


Fou de Dieu

by jackettslutt



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: A LOT of talk about the fall sry, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Dom/sub, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Drunk Orgasm, Dry Humping, Emotionally Repressed, Fist fighting leads to first sexual encounter, Light BDSM, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Memory Loss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Murder Husbands, Obsession, On the Run, Orgasm Control, Ownership, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sadism, Sexuality Crisis, Soooo much angst, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Cannibal, sex comes a bit later, the stag - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-09-30 13:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackettslutt/pseuds/jackettslutt
Summary: "What makes me at fault, Will?"The man shook his head; a sign of his debilitated emotions. Hannibal was stripping him down to the bone and he was visibly breaking. Will gently laid back against the tub again and exhaled despondently."You're frighteningly smart, Dr. Lecter. I don't understand how you haven't gotten it yet," he mumbled, "No one wants you when you have no heart."





	1. A Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Fou de Dieu : Madman of God.
> 
> I changed the summary to a better line to sound smarter pls don't shout at me if it confused you 
> 
> SPOILER ALERT. THIS STORY IS POST-FALL AND CONTAINS SPOILERS OF CRITICAL PARTS OF THE SHOW. 
> 
> This will be a short story of my own version of what happened after the Great Red Dragon and the fall. I'm still mourning the ending and praying for season 4.

"Stuffed Roast Heart with Devilled Kidneys and Garlic Liver Pâté." Hannibal proudly placed a plate in front of Will before circling around the table and setting his own down, then taking a seat. He gracefully pulled his chair by the edges so the backrest of the seat was closer and parallel to his spine. He gently flicked his wrists so his suit sleeves rode up out of his way and he could pick up his knife and fork. Will was much less graceful about it, his posture a bit slouched and his silverware already in his hands. He looked down at the plate as if he had no appetite. 

"You're particularly quiet this evening." Hannibal didn't look up from his plate as he carved out a piece of the heart and brought it up between his teeth.

"I'm often quiet."

"Untrue. Usually, you have something to say when we're alone like this. Whether it's an update on a case or another reason you want to kill me. You no longer work as an agent, so I assume it's the latter." 

"If I truly wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

Hannibal licked his bottom lip to free it of any lingering spices, swallowing down the remaining pieces of meat on his tongue and looking up at Will observantly.

"What is your current reason for wanting to kill me, Will?" He seemed much more intrigued than fearful. Actually, he didn't seem fearful at all.

"Well, you are . . ." He turned his head upward so it was facing Hannibal, and yet his eyes stayed away from the mans face. He seemed as if he hated the idea of looking him in the eyes, ". . . harmful. No matter how close we've become due to what we've been through together, that doesn't mean you are good for me to be near. It's logically unhealthy for me to be around you but it hurts far more to be away from you."

"I assume you don't just mean physically."

"No." He said stiffly, "I don't."

Hannibal let out a soft sigh before he spoke, "You may not like to admit that you know I acquire no delight in hurting you as if it's some form of forbidden belief, but it's the truth nonetheless. I just want what's best for you, Will." He rested his wrists against the edge of table so he could look at Will, fork and knife still in both hands. Instinctive manners prohibited placing his elbows there, so he arched his wrists to avoid touching his silverware to the table, regardless of his routined sanitization of the surface. The dark wooden structure shined under the large chandelier hanging above the center of it, illuminating not only the meal Hannibal had prepared while Will showered, but also the distinct facial expressions of each man.

"You're not wrong, but you aren't fully correct either. I simply cannot know what isn't true." He spoke lowly and looked at Hannibal with a blank, yet somewhat tense stare. His eyes flickered between Hannibal and the wall behind him, signaling that his brain was elsewhere. Hannibal knew he would possibly fall into another episode if he overwhelmed his brain enough, but luckily for Will, Hannibal was in the mood for a tranquil dinner this evening. As much as he enjoyed playing with Wills sanity and sending him into an amnesiac-inducing seizure, he was occupied with enjoying his meal while it was still warm. He knew how to get disturbing, enticingly gruesome confessions and thoughts from the man across from him without saying much at all himself. 

"You can say these things all you like but that doesn't modify the fact I know you like I know myself. As I have said before; we're conjoined. Our minds are connected on a deeper level than most would be able to understand or ever experience. I still feel guilty for the crimes that you have committed and I had nothing to do with, and I know you did this to me intentionally. You've altered my mind to rely on your company and the correspondence of yours, and I'm only still alive today because you unwittingly altered your own in the process. That, and pure luck. You have made us into one being uncaring of the affects it has had on me. I'm still convinced the only reason we survived that fall was because we did it together, and I'm angry about that."

"Angry that you were given life again?" Hannibal spoke as he looked at his plate and carefully cut a piece of meat away from the rest, making sure to use the knife to get the juices from the plate onto the bite before eating it. He took pride in his culinary skills, savoring every mouthwatering bite of his own creation.

"That's very selfish of you, Will. Millions of people would do anything for another chance at living. Especially people like Bella, who didn't ask for a premature death in the first place."

Will ignored the guilt that filled his stomach because of Hannibal's last comment, "Angry that I know if you weren't there, I would have perished alongside the Great Red Dragon. Angry that I was prepared to die that day but somehow you changed that outcome. Neither of us should have survived that day, Dr. Lecter, we were both mortally wounded and fell over one hundred feet into harsh waters and rocks."

He paused and let the rage building in his system subside into a chaotic calmness before he continued, "I'm angry that I feel like I owe you something for saving my life."

"Did you truly desire to end your life that day?" He picked up the glass of red wine and looked Will in the eyes, then closed his own and took a deep inhale of the intoxicating scent before taking a sip. He already knew he significantly preferred Wills scent, and he wished he knew the same about his taste.

Will paused for several seconds as he thought through his answer, "Yes. I never would have said the things I said or done the things I did if it weren't my intention to never have to think about them again afterward." 

"Are you referring to the embrace we shared before we fell?" He said as he set the glass down, picking his knife back up from its careful placement on the plate.

Wills fork suddenly clattered against the table, he quickly moved to pick it back up and averted his eyes down to the dark surface. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly, making Hannibal smirk. Regardless of what answer Will gave, Hannibal wasn't born yesterday, he's known the truth for quite a long time now and Wills reaction only further proved his point just then.

"That is what I'm referring to, yes. But I wouldn't call it an embrace, just a solid grip. I was simply taking you down with me." The statement was cold, but had an underlying shakiness to it. It was a lie.

"You laid your head against my shoulder and felt the fabric of my shirt. You breathed against my skin and let me wrap my arm around your waist rather than just forcing me over the edge." His eyes observantly traced over every part of Will that was visible over the table, slightly squinted as he evaluated what he was seeing. Every reaction and gesture was important for Hannibal to read Wills thoughts from the outside.

"That was the easier alternative. We had just finished fighting a criminal and I was already exhausted. I didn't want to fight a second time." 

"You knew I wasn't going to fight you, Will. I stood beside the edge of the cliff even as you approached me. In that moment I knew what you were going to do, and I was okay with it. I was just as prepared to die as you were."

"You always condemned suicide before then, why did you suddenly change your mind?"

"Because I was going to die with you. If I were to choose a way to pass, that's one of the more ideal means of doing so."

"I may know you, you and your games, you and your twisted ways of existing and thinking, but I'll never understand that; why me being there would have changed your morals so drastically. I'll never understand why you were so content with abruptly dying that way."

Hannibal let out a nearly inaudible laugh, wetting his lips with his tongue.

"I was curious what would happen." 

Will scoffed. He hated how Hannibal chose moments like these to use that subjective reasoning, "that's where your logic diminishes. You would have died, that's what would have happened."

"But I didn't."

"Okay, so then you would have either survived or not survived. Is finding out which fate you'd meet really worth the risk of dying and not being able to take it back?"

"You're not looking deep enough, Will. I'd have expected more from you." Hannibal expressed disappointment and tasted the liver, which was delectable as always, "I wasn't curious whether I would have lived or died. It was what was to come after, if there were anything to come after. Do you understand?"

"Are you referring to heaven and hell? You have to be kidding me, right?"

"I never kid, Will. You know that." His expression didn't change. Will seemed somewhat irritated.

"You were genuinely going to let yourself die to see whether you'd go to hell or not?"

Hannibal nodded once, "That is correct. Unfortunately, we both seem to know for certain I'm not fit for heaven. Despite the suffering that is supposedly waiting for me in hell, I'm curious as to whether or not it truly exists."

"So what you're telling me is that you were willing to give up the rest of your human life to possibly suffer in the torturous pits of hell for eternity? I don't see how that is at all superior to living."

Hannibal sighed, showing how he didn't appreciate that Will didn't understand his concept as well as he did. After all, they both have the same mind, correct? So why was Will questioning his logic so persistently?

"The moment you looked at the Great Red Dragons blood in the moonlight and admitted it was beautiful, I knew you had become the greatest version of yourself. Defeating the enemy together drew us closer, you had finally broke free from your own restraints and showed me who you truly are underneath your tightly wound skin. I was blessed to have witnessed it myself in this life. I knew I'd never again feel as fulfilled and proud as I did in that moment, so there was no drive for me to continue on if I didn't need to. I knew from the moment you made the proposal of the faked escape from federal custody, neither of us would survive the night. But I didn't know the circumstances in which we would have died. Usually, I can predict the outcome of the things I get myself involved in, but you admittedly shocked me when you proved all of my assumptions incorrect. I assumed the Great Red Dragon or FBI would have been involved firsthand. Perhaps you had plotted to kill me yourself when we drove to that secluded area to wait for him. I never would have willingly ended my own life if you hadn't been there. You may show doubts and confusion now that we are both in the aftermath of that moment and have had time to rethink it all and form more rational opinions, but at the time, there wasn't a single glint of either in your eyes. You seemed to be at the peak of understanding both me and yourself when we embraced and fell together. There were no doubts, there was no confusion or uncertainty, just serenity, peace, and acceptance."

"That was because I was going to finally take both of us out of the world, making it a better place for people like Molly and Walter. Good people. Together, we are a hazardous curse on this world. Apart, we are simply one cannibalistic serial killer and one special agent with terrible, terrible potentials. I wasn't this monster until I met you."

"That is where you're wrong. This beautiful side of you was in there all along, I just assisted in helping lure him out."

Will glanced from his meal up to the man, who seemed to grow in size. His skin was black and gleaming, the antlers growing from the top of his head curved as if they were trying to reach Will. The Wendigo was sat across from him now, despite his deeply rooted knowledge of it being a hallucination. He still hated the fact Hannibal ended up being the Chesapeake Ripper, ultimately becoming the Stag. The evil, dark, nightmarish sexual energy that radiated from the creature made his palms sweat and throat restrict. He looked back down at his plate.

"Bedelia told me how you feel about me."

"Whatever she told you can't truly be accurate, I never fully discussed that with her." Hannibal was looking at his plate and cutting pieces of meat. He was suddenly human again, and Will was looking at him.

"I think she knows and understands more about you than you care to admit."

"Is that so? What did she have to say?"

"Something along the lines of you feeling a sort of hunger for me and obtaining nourishment just from the sight of me, and that I ache for you. I believed her, I still do." 

Hannibal's hands stilled, he looked at the table in front of his plate for a moment while he thought before he placed his wrists on the edge again. It took him a moment to convince his eyes to meet Wills, but when he did, he saw curiosity, anger, and yet there was a bit of hope.

"What if I were to confirm what she said to be true? What would you think then?"

"That you're a fool."

The mans small smirk faltered a bit, but he refused to let Wills words force a reaction out of him that quickly. He pretended that comment didn't sting.

"What makes you believe I'm a fool, Will?"

"You're a fool to believe I'd ever feel the same about you. That me supposedly 'aching for you' in any way means something good or endearing. You may have the ability to create an obsession and reliance within me that wasn't there for you in the first place, but you can't create fondness. The reliance was created through an intellectual connection that was there from the start, but these . . . imaginary affections have no foundation. The feelings you have been implying you 'saw in me' that night don't exist. You just want them to so you can feel better about the feelings you have toward me that you cannot change." 

Hannibal said nothing, he quietly smacked his lips one time as he tasted the bitter wine in his throat. He wouldn't react; he refused to. And yet his expression seemed to beg Will to explain further, perhaps tell him why he doesn't feel the same, what things he could change about himself to alter Wills feelings to match his own.

"You're sadistic, Dr. Lecter. You claim to feel no pleasure when you harm me but you've harmed me, my body, my reputation, my family, my mind, in several ways on several occasions. You made me insane. You tried to kill me more than once. You held me close to you just to gut me and leave me for dead on your kitchen floor."

Hannibal cleared his throat, which had restricted the more he processed the fact Will was telling him face to face that he still despised him as a human being; a feeling Hannibal believed had been long since gone. It took him a moment to speak again.

"You mentioned recently the doctors told you I knew what I was doing, correct? That the gash was surgical and carefully done in the sense you wouldn't bleed out. I wouldn't have hurt you if it weren't completely necessary for my escape, which was crucial for the long term future of us both. I knew you wouldn't die, I just needed a distraction for my journey to Europe." He thought back to that day, how he could feel himself tearing up before he had even touched Will. That moment was of paramount importance in his alteration of Wills mind and his ability to escape the states despite how difficult it was for him to go through with. Killing Abigail? That was a breeze. Stabbing Jack in the neck with a shard of glass? Child's play. Embracing Will in his arms to get enough time and chance to slice his stomach open and watch him slip and fall in his own blood? Hannibal had never felt so sickened and devastated in his life. He knew Will would survive, but seeing him turning gray on his floor as he lost blood and mourned his child's death for a second time made his stomach churn in a way it never had before. He was thankful it was pouring outside so he could at least pretend he wasn't weeping on his way to Bedelias residence. 

"Sometimes I still see myself with my hands around your neck, then ultimately killing you the way you tried to kill me. I'd torture you much worse than that hospital guard did before I'd drain you and take your body to your basement. I'd use your own tools to shred you, stab you, impale you on everything I can find and make you my own version of the wound man, just out of pure spite." His eyes slowly closed as he spoke, he could already see and feel the events he was describing. This wasn't the same as his usual daydreaming at crime scenes because there was no actual scene for him to base it off of, but regardless of that he still vividly saw Hannibal closing his eyes and exhaling while he was killed, accepting it as it was and not even trying to fight it. He wished Hannibal would fight and beg, he wished he'd express the pain he was in while Will took his life, but it was simply too unrealistic for him to imagine.

"I see myself leaving you somewhere for someone to find, then coming back with Jack the next morning to observe and analyze my own work. Some unfortunate pedestrian would end up taking the heat for it; likely one of your past patients. I'd sleep soundly every night from then on with my last conscious thoughts being the life leaving your body. This . . is my design."

There was a moment of thick silence, then Will sharply inhaled and opened his eyes to see Hannibal sitting across from him with the same slightly squinted expression he constantly wore regardless of his mood. This slightly angered him, because he'd just threatened to kill the man in grave detail and it had no affect. Despite that, it intrigued him. He knew they both constantly fantasied about killing each other, but neither would actually go through with it at this point. They had called it even a long time ago, and the night they defeated the Great Red Dragon, they bonded over death and rebirth together, making it difficult to break that tie by killing each other. Now they just lived in a somewhat complicated harmony like two regular roommates or friends in their home in Europe, trying to find new ways of venting their deep craving for intimacy into something safely without winding up dead.

Will looked down at his plate, which was hardly touched. "What did you say this dish is called?"

"Stuffed Roast Heart with Devilled Kidneys and Garlic Liver Pâté." Hannibal beamed, "Delicious, is it not?"

Will gave him a soft smirk and cut a piece from the side, letting his Hannibal-altered side out for a moment as he took the bite, "Tell me, whose heart are we eating? Is this their liver and kidney as well, or are we eating from more than one cow?"

Hannibal chuckled with a smile, this time cutting from the kidney, "just one cow tonight. I apologize if that ruins the excitement of the meal for you."

"Not at all," Will is trying not to smile as he takes another bite of said 'cow', "you didn't create a design did you? And if you did, you placed it far away from here, correct?" 

"No need to be paranoid, Will. They're down in the basement freezer in airtight containers for this weeks meals. You should feel lucky I care more for your well-being than Bedelias; I won't get us caught like I got her and I caught. I didn't care much for her company anyway. I'm unsure why, but I truly desire your company and feel the need to avoid allowing it to get interrupted by bringing Jack here again in the meantime. I'm willing to give up the fun of traumatizing the authorities and passerby's if it means security. I like the way we have been living thus far." 

"Me, too." Will said with a bit of blush in his cheeks, finally starting to eat to avoid looking Hannibal's way as often as the moments prior, "this is delicious, by the way."

Hannibal felt his heart skip a beat; a sensation he's still getting used to after all these years of knowing Will. He's the only thing that has ever given Hannibal the same fulfilling sensation as cutting someone's throat and watching them bleed out, but with something as simple as a smile. 

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 1 of my story, more soon to come! Let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments! :)
> 
> Warning: slow updates. I'm a quality over quantity kind of gal, meaning I'm lazy and would rather come out with one chapter in a month that I put a lot of effort into than three or four mediocre ones. But stay tuned! 
> 
> There will be sexually explicit scenes coming up, fighting/ some vague violence, and very clear emotional manipulation. And cannibalism, duh. So you've been warned.


	2. Aftershave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting to develop a plot here, woohoo.

The sole sounds filling the kitchen were dishes clattering against one another and the faucet spraying water down into the sink in one rapid strip. The water was hot, so hot in fact that steam rose from each dish that Will set on the small towel beside the sink. Hannibal stepped away from Wills side to take care of the small mess on the stovetop, throwing his small towel over his shoulder to free both hands. 

This is how it was every night now. The two men would spend quiet days either together at home or separately running errands before sharing Hannibal's home cooked dinners and cleaning it up together afterward. Hannibal was the one who made the mess, but Will didn't mind helping out either way. It was sort of his own way of thanking Hannibal for dinner because he was too spiteful to say it with his words. 

Will glanced over at Hannibal, who was dressed in nice black shoes and slacks, a light blue button up shirt tucked into them with a tie tied loosely around his collar, and finally a black suit vest to top it off. Of course his appearance was pristine as always with no wrinkles in his clothing, his hair very nicely combed, and his sleeves evenly rolled up his arms. Will himself was dressed in dark blue pants he didn't know the origin of, a blue plaid button up shirt also tucked into his pants, and a dark gray jacket with far more pockets than necessary for one person. To make clean up easier though, he'd removed the jacket and set it on the back of his chair in the dining room. He had opted for wearing contacts that day even though his vision wasn't necessarily terrible, so he wasn't wearing his glasses. It was clear which one of them cared more about their presentation than the other. He turned his head back down to the dish in his hand. 

"You're scolding your hands, Will."

"That's somewhat dramatic of you to say, isn't it?" He stated without looking back up, although he knew Hannibal was looking right at him.

"It's not that hot."

"It's steaming. Water begins to steam at around one hundred degrees. But if you insist, I'll leave it be." 

Will didn't answer to that. 

There were several more moments of silence before Hannibal returned at Wills right side to the stack of dishes waiting to be dried, pulling the towel down from his shoulder and picking up one of the plates.

Their shoulders were a mere two inches apart, and Hannibal stepped back a bit while he dried the dish to avoid making Will uncomfortable by standing too close. His hands were swift and gentle with the towel, then he looked over at Will without making his gaze too obvious. He studied up and down Wills neck, shoulders, back, then the thick scarring wound on his cheek, before leaning forward ever so slightly to inhale deeply through his nose. His eyes fluttered shut while the scent filled all of his senses, then he returned to his previous state of looking at the plate. 

"I see you're wearing that rather unfortunate aftershave."

There was a pause.

"I don't understand what it is about that aftershave that makes it so special to you. As in, why go out of your way to use that specific brand when I still offer to introduce you to much more pleasing scents? It s-."

"Smells like something with a ship on the bottle. I know."

Hannibal looked at Will when he interrupted him but said nothing about it. He set the second plate on top of the first before picking up the large knife and setting the blade face up into his towel-covered hand. 

"I told you. I keep getting it for Christmas."

"You had the option to leave it in your home before we fled, and yet you brought it as one of your few items even though you hardly ever seem to shave. You could have allowed me to find you a new aftershave when we arrived in Europe, but you did not. Christmas hasn't arrived this year. Do you have a sentimental attachment to that atrocious smell, Will?"

Will shrugged, a gesture that Hannibal questioned. It was rather mundane for him, far-out from his usual mannerisms. 

"Perhaps I do. I've been using this aftershave for a very long time now, so it familiarizes me with the past. Before I began working as a special agent, before my seizures and black outs, before I had been through any traumatic experiences that altered my life for the worst. Before you." 

That jab was a bit painful, making the mans heart seize. Hannibal, of course, offered no physical reaction to it. 

"What is the purpose of wearing it if you live in the same home as me? Isn't that just counteractive?"

"Whatever it is, it's better than nothing. I used to live in a secluded house with my dogs, a quiet and relaxing atmosphere, no guilt or resentment on my mind. There was no wanted sign hanging above my head, nor the constant paranoia that the authorities will find us here and tear everything we've succeeded in building here apart. There was no dark shadowy barbarian that ravaged my mind constantly standing over my shoulder. So yeah, I'd say I have a sentimental attachment to the good of the past that this scent returns me to. It allows reminisce and nostalgia in my time of needing it." 

Hannibal was placing his knives back in their rightful place in the knife block when Will finished speaking. He let his statement fully process through his mind. 

"Regardless, it's terrible." 

Suddenly, Will swiped his hands across the counter and the freshly washed plates fell down against the tile floor. There was a very loud shattering sound as pieces of broken ceramic material shot in all different directions. It shocked Hannibal to the point of pausing his movements to filter all attention in Wills direction. He turned around with anger painted across his face, his shoulders tense and broad at the base of his neck, and his arms curved a bit outward at his sides as if he were stock full of adrenaline and ready to fight him. Hannibal simply stood there with his observant stare.

"Do you seriously take pleasure in tearing me down so frequently?" His voice seemed harsher than it usually was, but it wasn't loud, "there hasn't been a day since I met you that you haven't made some sort of belittling comment or gesture. Especially since we arrived here. Why do you enjoy trying to disparage me as often as you can?" 

"I don't believe I ever said I do. I do not know what you're talking about, Will. I respect you." 

"Clearly you don't respect me or anything I stand for. First my career, then Alana, then Beverly, then Abigail, then Margot's child, and now this? Anything that seems to even slightly raise my spirits is some kind of threat to you. You go out of your way to destroy joyful moments for me and in turn you fill my life with sorrow." He spat.

"Do not speak to me in that sense, Will. You're acting remarkably immature."

"And you're being arrogant." He seemed as if he spoke through gritted teeth, "Nothing can be up to par in your eyes, Dr. Lecter. You're so incredibly pessimistic. I dress the way I dress and smell the way I smell because that's what I choose. Can't you just shut your mouth and let me exist the way I want to? You being a boaster has cost me a child, hell, it's even cost me my chance at an ordinary life." 

Hannibal seemed much less observant now, his expression is darker than beforehand and yet he doesn't seem angry. Although, that's exactly what he was. He felt disrespected. 

"You're being extremely impolite. That is not tolerated by me, Will. This is your last warning."

"You know you're erroneous, you just won't admit it. I'm a grown man, this is my house as well, and I can speak however I please. What're you going to do, slaughter me and eat my flesh for vengeance? Gut me again and let me bleed out on this kitchen floor instead? Do your worst, Dr. Lecter, because we both know you're terrible at running from the authorities solo. I'm not afraid of you."

Hannibal made a very quick and smooth advancement toward Will as if he were prepared to put his hands on him, but Will used both of his own wet hands to shove Hannibal back by his chest, broken shards of china crunching under his heels. The man didn't advance again after that, he merely watched as the brunet angrily stormed from the kitchen and seconds later, a door slammed. The faucet still running, the dishes unfinished, shards of Hannibal's best china broken all over the floor, and their nightly drink now postponed, it was safe to say Hannibal was no longer in a pleasant mood. 

_____

Hannibal glanced up at the clock on the wall of his study, which read 10:36 pm. That means he'd been sitting in this silence for approximately two hours and they've both had time to cool off. He was admittedly shocked that Will had been hidden in his room for so long, but there was always the possibility he had drifted off to sleep. Knowing Will and his usual sleep schedule, that was rather unlikely, but Hannibal just assumed overwhelming anger and adrenaline could have exhausted his mind enough to make him tired. 

The setup of this study was similar to Hannibal's old one, however there was no second floor of the library area and the room was a bit smaller. He tried to make this room as similar to his previous one as possible just so it wouldn't effect the way his mind works when he's in there. Different environments create different thought processes, evidently. He and Will had only been in Europe for a few weeks and he hadn't had many chances to restock his library, so his book supply was adversely low. He was short on supplies as well, such as notebooks and his own artwork, most of which he had left in his office. He knew for sure that the authorities had found all of his notes, his lies, more than likely his basement; the story of his true self, what was hidden underneath his helpful Doctor persona. He knew he would be in for some serious punishment if he were ever caught, but he also knew both he and Will were in a very safe, somewhat discreet area. He wasn't afraid.

The only things aside from clothing and other personal items he had taken from his home were any notes or artworks with correlation to Will. All of the clock drawings he could find, his notes from all of their therapy sessions, medical records, and even the few clandestine profile sketches of Will. His most recent being a blurred recollection of Will in his becoming, covered in the blood of the Great Red Dragon and himself, the life draining from his eyes as he embraced Hannibal. It was, in fact, beautiful.

He had to be quick when he was packing just in case authorities were on their way there for any reason, so he collected his Will paraphernalia before moving to his bedroom and grabbing a few suits, more casual wear for sleep, as well as toiletries for their journey. And fake identities of course, both of which Hannibal had specially created for he and Will as if he saw this outcome prematurely. Publicly, they were Luis Thompson and Felix Madsen. However, they still used their regular names indoors. Why? Neither of them thought about why. 

Fake identities are what allowed them to flee the country safely. That, and Hannibal's secretive overseas bank accounts that the FBI didn't know of, and therefore couldn't freeze. Everything else, he abandoned. He knew anything he left behind could be replaced after he and Will settled down, but anything they had created together in their time as respected men could not. That's why grabbing those items was his main priority.

They had never spoken of it, but Hannibal was under the impression that Will simply grabbed personal items like clothing and toiletries. He didn't have many things in his possession that held sentimental value, so there was nothing to prioritize. After a somewhat hostile visit to a veterinarian, he packed as quick as he could before leaving a note for Alana, simply reading, "Take care of the dogs for me. I have a feeling I won't make it out of this alive." 

It was a rather clever way of convincing Alana and Jack that it was written before the pursuit of the Great Red Dragon. That way, they'd send search parties out at sea to try and find their bodies in the water overseen by the cliff. Even if it were for a few hours, Will was hoping it'd assure them that he and Hannibal had perished. Of course he knew they'd search their houses and find that belongings were missing, ultimately telling the FBI that they fled. By then, they'd be long gone and safe. Hannibal had the bright idea of train-hopping or hitchhiking for several hours to find an airport in another state to postpone the discovery, or perhaps even fully cover up where they departed from. That'd be very helpful with covering up their destination. It was difficult, it was exhausting, but worth it. As far and the two men knew, the FBI found no leads on their trail.

Little did Hannibal know, Will was heartbroken because he didn't have anything that represented Abigail to take with him. All he had were memories, but any joke or smile they shared was shred apart by his memory of her bleeding out on the floor beside him, and he couldn't do anything to help her. Hannibal had ruined his idea of Abigail and he was angry about it. 

Hannibal took a deep breath in as he stood up and re-buttoned his suit jacket, quietly leaving his study and heading in the direction of Wills bedroom. Anyone else would have known to show integrity for Wills personal space, but Hannibal clearly had no boundaries. His glistening black dress shoes made quiet sounds against the floor as he walked, and every few steps there would be a quiet creak under the surface of the floor. He wasn't trying to be discreet, so he wasn't worried. 

When he arrived in front of the door, he gently knocked. 

"Will? Are you awake?" He took the dragging silence as a welcome entry. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pleased to find it hadn't been locked. Perhaps Will had forgotten to lock it in his rampage, or, perhaps he didn't want to lock Hannibal out in the first place. He creaked the door open with no hesitation, regardless of the fact there was always the possibility Will was going to attack him. Now that his greater self has blossomed, his violence was unpredictable. Nevertheless, that only added a layer of excitement and fascination to Will for Hannibal. He had already viewed the man as astoundingly unique apart from the rest of humanity when they first met, but after he studied the man and altered his mind to fit his own desires for another human being, his feelings intensified into a somewhat obsessive craving. Now he finally had someone who understood him and fit into his shoes like they had precisely the same pair of feet. 

He stepped into the room and let his eyes roam, deciding against turning the light on. He let his vision adjust to the dim lighting that came from the lamp all the way across the room, which didn't do much because of the old lightbulb and thick lampshade. It didn't take long before he could distinguish items around the room and successfully make his way in. There was a large dresser directly to his left with a shut closet to the left of it, a nightstand about five feet in front of the closet on which the lamp stood, and an unmade bed to the right of the nightstand in the center of the wall. There wasn't much in the rather large space, granted, Will wasn't much of an extravagant person. The only things he would allow Hannibal to purchase him were necessities. He stepped another few feet into the room, his gaze starting at the right of him and slowly moving left before it landed on a pair of socked toes poking out from the side of the dresser. It was then that he found Will sitting against his closet door on the other side of the dresser that had originally blocked Hannibal's vision. He approached the man sitting in the odd spot, who had his hands in his messy curly hair, his head down, and his elbows rested on his knees, which were pulled close to his chest. The only movement coming from him were rapid short breaths that shook his shoulders. 

"You've been in here for quite some time."

No answer. 

"I did not intend to offend you with my remarks, Will. I would not have had that happen to you, discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me. I have learned all my life that friends are supposed to be transparent with one another. I was simply being honest with you in an attempt to benefit you in the long run."

Still no answer. 

"Do you care to join me for our evening drink beside the fire? It is already started and I'm low on firewood tonight. I estimate we have about four hours of flame left." 

"No, thanks." He spoke quietly after several seconds of silence.

"Why do you refuse to look at me?" 

"I don't."

"You're not looking up from your lap."

"Eyes are distracting." 

"And yet you had no issues making prolonged eye contact with me hundreds of times before this incident. Admit it, this is simply an act of indignation because you're angry at me." 

"You're being accusatory." 

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Will. I'm describing what I observe."

Wills arms dropped so they were sticking out loosely across his knees, then he looked up at Hannibal with a particularly worn stare. Though it was dark in the room, Hannibal could read every trace of exasperation on his face. His own expression remained unchanged. 

"I'd have presumed you wouldn't want my smell stinking up your study." 

"Your aftershave is execrable, yes. However that doesn't impede on my enjoyment of your company. Your scent is rather pleasant when you're not wearing it, so it's not as if you're the issue. Besides, you've been in there so often that it lingers and I can smell it even when you're not in the room." 

Will rolled his eyes and lifted his right hand so he could push his curls back from his forehead, which fell back into place immediately following. He really needed a haircut. He sighed, looking up at the man again, who was standing still with his hands clasped behind his back and his resting face on as if he were waiting. Not for an acceptance or declination, but for Will to stand up and follow him. Ultimately deciding he had no other choice, he shook his head with annoyance, his attention being caught by the strong hand that held out for him. He clasped it with his own and allowed Hannibal to easily help him stand, then he wiped his hands down his shirt and advanced toward the door before Hannibal could. He could hear the footsteps following behind him as he tread carelessly toward the study, which he entered because of the wide open door. 

He stopped abruptly in his tracks a mere three feet into the room. Sitting on the leather chair opposite of Hannibal's, lit up by the glow of the flames beside it, was none other than Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will remained still, visibly trembling. 

Hannibal entered the room behind him and made his way to the liquor table against the far right wall, which was opposite of his desk that sat on the left side of the room. The bookshelves were on the left of the fireplace, adjacent and behind the chair Will was staring at, close to the desk. Hannibal wasn't paying his usual full attention to Will at the moment because he was busy opening a bottle of his chosen Bâtard-Montrachet.

Will stared into the face of someone he hadn't seen in weeks. He believed perhaps he was over The Minnesota Shrike that haunted him up until the case of the Great Red Dragon, that he was free of the hallucinations and taunting, but evidently he was wrong. The milky white eyes stared right back at him. Decaying fingers gripped the front of the chairs arm so tightly that his knuckles cracked, further tricking Will into believing this wasn't a hallucination. That's when Will caught a glimpse of the carving knife in his other hand, and suddenly he was standing and approaching at an alarming rate. Garret Jacob Hobbs let a grin slowly creep across his face, exposing yellow teeth and diseased gums, but then he whispered. It echoed through Wills mind.

"See? . . . See?" 

Will backed away from the haunting stare in such a frantic motion that he fell against the wall beside the closed door, knocking the wind out of his lungs and causing him to descend into a panic. His breaths sounded like desperate inhaled groans, as if he were hyperventilating or drowning, and Hannibal turned his head to see what the commotion was about. He was shocked to see Will giving an intense emotional reaction to something so suddenly; he hadn't seen such a thing since his seizure in Hannibal's dining room. When he looked at what Will was fearfully gawking at, he saw nothing. 

"Will?"

Will didn't reply, he seemed as if he were too frightened to pay any attention to anything but the chair beside the fireplace. That's when Hannibal decided to set the bottle down and approach the man. 

When he came within two feet, Will looked up at him and his eyes widened. Unbeknownst to Hannibal, Will wasn't seeing his face. He was seeing flashes of Hobbs, the Stag, fear of being gutted or impaled by antlers made his flesh cold with adrenaline and the desire to break down into tiny pieces of rubble. He brought his arms up to guard his face and try to shove himself back further into the wall, but to no avail, because it was made of sturdy brick. He let out a howl of distress that made even Hannibal step back in bewilderment. Wills eyes were tightly closed and he seemed as if he didn't know whether to protect his face or abdomen. The panic didn't subside when Hannibal said his name again, so the man took it a step further by forcefully grabbing the back of Wills neck and pushing his hands down away from his face. 

"Will. William. It's Hannibal." He spoke bluntly, and it seemed as if it were slowly pulling Will from whatever horror show he had plummeted into. 

"Don't lie to me . . Please."

"Will. It is Hannibal. There is nothing there. I'm not going to harm you." 

He finally stopped fighting, the wrinkles around his eyes slowly slackened and disappeared. His hands had found their way to Hannibal's suit jacket and bunched the fabric into the tightened grip of his fists. Wills eyes cracked opened and he exhaled with solace at the sight of a familiar, comforting face. When Hannibal realized Will had returned to earth, he offered a very soft smile and let their foreheads fall together. He could feel the protrusion of Wills scar below his hairline; the one he put there. His thumb was gentle against Wills jawline, tracing back and forth in an attempt to ease the mans nerves. It helped tremendously. 

They remained there against the wall for several minutes, foreheads rested jointly and Wills cardiac and respiratory systems returning to their regular patterns. His hands were still gripping Hannibal's jacket. Though his eyes had closed again in the meantime, Hannibal was glancing around Wills face up close. Especially his pale, crepe pink lips. 

Will abruptly lifted his head away from Hannibal's, laying it back against the wall he was leaning on. He let his eyes open again to see Hannibal was still standing close, embracing him with his hands from the back of his neck and against his chest. Since he had returned to his conventional mental state, he had also returned to his regular state of impulsively disliking Hannibal. He gently stepped sideways until he was out of the mans grip and walking freely to the liquor table. 

Hannibal followed suit, his eyes never leaving the man as he approached at his side. He then looked away in order to take two glasses, one wine glass and one liquor glass, from the windowed cabinet below the bottles and set them atop the table. He took it upon himself to pour Will a glass of whiskey and then pour himself a glass of Bâtard-Montrachet, a rather expensive wine indeed. He handed Will the short cylinder glass as he picked up his own by the neck. 

He watched Will as he downed several gulps until the liquid was gone, setting the glass down to refill it himself about three quarters of the way full and then returning to his spot in front of Hannibal. The man gave his wine a gentle swirl before inhaling the scent deep within his lungs, then taking a small mouthful and letting it gyrate delicately down his throat. 

Will was mid-drink when Hannibal broke the silence. 

"I don't anticipate that you want to discuss the events that have occurred tonight." 

Will looked down at the bourbon in his glass as he lowered it, pulling the corners of his lips back and retracting them against his teeth until they were a bit exposed as he swallowed. He exhaled and it sounded like a sigh of gratification. 

"You'd be correct." 

"Why is that?"

"Because I already know what you're going to say."

"Is that so? Enlighten me." 

Will looked up at Hannibal with a displeased expression, "It's simple. I would explain to you what happened and how it made me feel, then we would converse for several minutes about how that circles back to me and my so-called . . . desire to kill. We'd discuss how we're similar all over again, and you would encourage insanity and violence. It's what we do every single session, we just find new words."

Hannibal chuckled softly.

"Being smart spoils a lot of things, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does." Although, Will didn't seem anywhere near as amused as Hannibal was. 

"Shall we take a seat?" Hannibal offered and motioned toward the two empty leather chairs sat by the fire, angled to where they were facing one another, but not directly. It was at approximately a 145 degree angle, so they could easily see each other but weren't forced to permanently face one another. It was preferable for Will because he didn't like feeling cornered by Hannibal's pressing questions, constant stares, and direct face-to-face sessions all at once. With this seating arrangement, at least Will had more options to look at while they spoke that weren't Hannibal. 

Will was the first to take a seat right where he'd previously seen Garret Jacob Hobbs. He exhaled as he sat back against the curve of the cushioned leather, which was much more comfortable than the wooden dining room chairs and his closet door. His right arm rested securely against the arm of the chair, the bourbon held in his left hand. Hannibal was sat in a similar way to his left, but Hannibal's glass was in his right hand. 

"You seem tired, Will. How have you been sleeping?" 

"Same as always." He muttered, "But there's nothing I can do about it, so there's no purpose in discussing it." 

"When is the last time you remember sleeping soundly? And I'm referring to standard sleep, not drug or alcohol induced."

Will was quiet for a moment, then his voice appeared melancholy. 

"The very last time I slept beside Molly, before Jack contacted me about the case."

"You're referring to the Great Red Dragon?"

"Yes. After I got married to her and began my journey on pursuing an ordinary life with her and Walter, things began to level out for me. I was thinking less about bloodshed and more about how to engage in bonding activities with my step son. I would go hours, perhaps even days without thinking about Gideon, Alana and Jack. Garret Jacob Hobbs and the Chesapeake Ripper weren't the forefront of my thoughts. Flashes of bodies and designs crossed my mind less and less as time passed. But you, you never stopped running through my mind."

Hannibal's ears perked at his last remark, "Elaborate if you will."

Will sighed, "I believe I thought about you just as much as I thought about any separate subject every day. I'd think of your extravagant meals every time I'd eat, I'd think of our conversations whenever there was silence with nothing to fill it with. Sometimes you'd even echo through my dreams." 

"You dreamed of me?"

"Sometimes. Usually, I didn't dream. Do you remember that day in the memory palace when you told me if you saw me every day, you would remember that time?"

"Of course I do." 

"I didn't understand it at the time, but I understand it now. Because that's how it turned out for me. I have seen you thousands of times since I met you, but there are distinct moments that I remember that overshadow all of the other mundane memories. Despite the fact most time spent with you is anything but mundane." 

Hannibal lightly smirked. 

"Would you like to tell me what moments stand out to you the most?" 

Will swallowed, he took a prolonged moment to reply. 

"Mainly any moment that includes violence, sorrow, fraudulence, or death."

Hannibal thought for a moment, taking a sip of his wine in the meantime. He rested the bottom of his glass against the arm of the chair again before looking at Will.

"Is that a negative discernment for you?" 

With a sigh, Will looked at his glass of dark whiskey. 

"No. And that's what disturbs me." 

"It sounds as if you're still fighting against your greater self, Will. You're desperately striving to cage the magnificent creature inside of you and it's doing more damage than good." 

"This is why I didn't want to discuss this with you. You're doing exactly what I predicted you'd do. Encouraging whatever it is that you see within me, is dangerous." 

"Tell me, Will, is it not that you desire my assistance in rectifying yourself, but that you desire someone to justify letting the beast free?"

Will didn't reply. 

"You comment on my habit of encouraging the worst, and yet you still open up to me and lend me infinite options of doing so. Will, I believe you want nothing more than to be like me; never feeling guilty for eating or undertaking anything. You want to be a free soul with no remorse, no priorities except your own gratification. You want egotism to take precedence over morality. Am I correct, or am I not?"

Will let out a soft, "yeah."

Hannibal grinned to himself, "then why do you refuse to accept my method of therapy? You saw what I did for the Great Red Dragon. Although he was a failed work of art due to his personal baggage, he became much greater with my assistance. You're so much more phenomenal than he, and I know for a fact you could become exceptionally glorious."

Will chugged the rest of his whiskey and stood from his seat, setting the glass on the mantel above the fire. He let out a huff and pushed his hair back with each hand, one after the other, as if he were experiencing stressful thoughts that made him radiate nervous energy. 

"This is simply the alcohol talking. I should go lay down." 

"You're still in denial, Will. I can determine that because you'd rather leave and suffer from nightmares than remain here and discuss your foreseeable potential."

"You can't always just comprehend everything in every situation at the snap of a finger, Dr. Lecter. The world doesn't revolve around the capacity of your intelligence."

"Then tell me, if there are things to do aside from sleep at this moment, why are you abandoning every one of them just to endure psychological agony?"

"I have no other choice. If I want to survive as comfortably as possible, I need rest." 

"How can you rest if you're exhausting your mind and body for hours at a time?" 

"Because if I don't sleep, I lose my sanity then eventually succumb to sleep deprivation and die. I'd much rather hold on to what sanity I have left and not sleep well than not sleep at all allow myself to go insane."

"It seems as if you need to copy the environment you were in whilst sleeping soundly in the past in order to better your mind and reflex skills, that is, if you want to feel your best." 

"You're not making any sense." He shook his head and rubbed above his brows with the pads of his fingers before dropping his hand to his side.

"When you were married to Molly, where did you sleep?"

Will gave him a strange look, "in our bed. Where else would I have slept?"

"With whom?"

"Beside her." He said slowly.

"That's what I'm trying to indicate. If you desire better rest at night, you need a warm body to sleep beside as a psychological sense of security." His eyes were slightly narrowed, offering no expression as he studied Wills reaction. When he understood what Hannibal must have meant, a wave of tension washed over him and he began slowly making his way toward the door. 

"Well . . . I don't necessarily have anyone available. Besides, my bed is rather small for two people. I don't trust anyone as substantially as I trusted her. It'd be difficult to recreate that environment without her. I should be going." He muttered as he pulled the door open and quietly shut it behind him, sighing shakily as he let the anxiety subside. He hurried for his room and locked the door behind him. 

Will was chock full of emotions at this point. He was angry about multitudinous things, he believed he was mourning over many things he'd lost or abandoned in Virginia and he was afraid of losing what he had left, and not to mention the conflicting emotions he had toward Hannibal himself. He did everything in his power to keep space between them. He called Hannibal Dr. Lecter as a way of distancing himself emotionally, and Will spent time away from him during the day as a way of distancing himself physically. 

Despite how much Will wanted to hate him to his core, he found himself nearly falling into the trap Hannibal attempted to set up for him. 

As he leaned against his door staring at his bed, perplexed and increasingly intoxicated, only one thought incessantly rang through his mind. 

Had Hannibal, in all seriousness, just asked Will to sleep beside him that night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I got a second chapter up for once so it's time to celebrate. I really hope I'm properly capturing their characteristics from the actual show. 
> 
> What do you think of this story so far? Do you think Will would realistically begin falling for Hannibal's so-called trickery, or is that just wishful thinking? Let me know in the comments!


	3. Smiley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q: "What exactly happened between the fleeing of the U.S and their luxurious new home in the UK?"
> 
> A: a lot.

"There's no purpose in fighting me. I will always win."

"Please," Will breathed, "Please don't. Not again." 

Hannibal's expression remained cold as he stared down at Will. The light above them was emanating from some indiscernible source, white and blinding encompassing Hannibal's stature. The shadow casting down his face made it impossible for Will to see his eyes and the center of his mouth, his cheekbones sharply outlined. It resembled two empty sockets and a toothless grin. He looked utterly wicked.

Will slowly dragged himself backwards with his heels and elbows, his body weak from the beating he'd taken just minutes prior. He didn't quite remember what started the fight, but he certainly recalled the first hit. And the second. And the third. The kick, the head-butt, the hair-pull that slammed his head against Hannibal's knee. His limbs dragged weakly through the air any time he tried to throw a defensive punch or kick. His body felt heavy even before Hannibal's fists left him dazed. He felt deeply betrayed and hurt, again. He didn't understand. 

He couldn't run. It felt as if he moved in slow motion while Hannibal moved in real time, and any futile action he took to get away ended in Hannibal kicking his feet out from under him. He eventually stopped getting back up, sobbing in defeat.

This was no longer Hannibal. He looked up through two swollen eyes and saw dark, scrawny limbs closing in on him from every direction. The color of Hannibal's skin appeared to darken and blend with the shadows, which were therefore no longer distinguishable. Will tried his hardest to avoid looking the creature directly in its demonic eyes, although, he noticed black antlers extending from the top of its head in his peripheral vision. He was plummeting into a hysterical discomposure. 

Will began to backwards-crawl as quickly as he could, very soon running into what he assumed to be a dresser or table of some sort, despite the fact he couldn't see it. Everything was glowing white. The only color in this room were the two people standing in it and the blood splatter all over the floor from his face.

He desperately grabbed at whatever he could to pull himself up, managing to get onto his feet, supporting a majority of his weighted form on the waist-high structure as he braced himself for the worst.

He heard the sound of a metal object clattering against the floor. When he looked up at the windego and then down at its feet, he saw the glimmering kitchen knife just inches to its right. His eyes shot back up at the creature, but to his surprise, it was only Hannibal. They stood a mere few feet apart. With a wrinkled blood-stained white button up, bloody knuckles, stringy hair, and an unwelcoming smile, Hannibal slowly began to approach Will, who backed further up against whatever it was he held onto. It was leisurely becoming his life force.

He looked at his feet when they suddenly grew cold, promptly realizing the ground beneath them was flooding with black liquid. By then, it was deep enough to where the bottom half of his shoes were submerged, and it steadily continued deepening. The liquid sloshed much like small ocean waves, although there was no movement aside from Hannibal's footsteps. The rushing of the water was minimal, but sounded as if Will were directly underneath harsh oceanic tidal waves, and he couldn't quite separate the sound from his own thoughts.

Echoing through the air, "I let you see me . . . I let you see me . . . I let you see me . . ." 

"I'm sorry," he choked out in attempt to cease the torment, constantly flowing tears soaking his cheeks and facial hair, "I see you, I swear I do. I-It's unbelievable. It's beautiful." 

He came nearer, but offered no verbal response. His Cheshire Cat grin faded into a scowl. 

"Please. Let me see again. I-I didn't intend to insult you. Please, I didn't . . ."

Hannibal's approach came to a halt directly in front of Will, who leaned backwards over the invisible furniture to distance himself as much as he could. Hannibal, in turn, leaned forward. He hovered over him. 

"It's far too late." 

"It doesn't have to be." His voice was meek and yielding. 

"Will," he whispered, "come closer." 

In a pitiful attempt to save himself, Will obliged. He hoped listening to Hannibal would spare him of further distress. He breathed shallowly as he leaned forward, Hannibal's face just mere centimeters away from the his own. 

Hannibal grinned.

"Do not fret," he murmured calmly, and just as he gripped Wills shirt with harsh force, the man peered past Hannibal's head and caught a glimpse of sharp black antlers blossoming from the where the knife laid beneath the water. His eyes widened in a panic and he looked back at Hannibal, whose lips pulled back from his teeth in an altogether sadistic smile. Before Will could take action, the room went silent apart from Hannibal's voice. 

"You won't feel a thing." 

Swiftly, Hannibal ripped Will away from the furniture by his shirt and lifted him in the air, black water splashing up from Wills kicking feet and drenching what vaguely resembled the refrigerator and kitchen sink of Hannibal's old home. Flashes of decaying flowers and time-lapsed winter skies pervaded Wills vision, and he let out a choked shriek as the sharp tines of antlers harshly tore through skin, bones, and organs, splitting open the front of his abdomen and taking remnants of entrails with them. 

Will sat up abruptly, gasping so loudly that he startled himself. He was coated in a thick layer of sweat, his hair tussled and soaked, as well as most parts of his T-shirt. He tried to catch his breath as he pushed the comforters from his legs to cool off, swinging them over the side of his bed so he could collect himself and return to earth.

He looked down at his drenched shirt and boxers in disgust. He needed to wash his bed spread again. 

He supported his upper body on his hands, which were placed on the edge of the bed on either side of his hips. He let his head fall forward, panting heavily as his mind slowly began recovering from the horrors it had for some reason created. Tears were still pouring from his eyes and his heart still ached as if Hannibal really had harmed him. 

Will looked over at the clock on his nightstand and read 7:25 am exactly. The house was silent apart from his shaky breaths, but he knew Hannibal was awake by now. A swift pounding sensation filled his head, reminding him of the drinking he'd done the previous night. That also came with thinking of the conversation he'd had with Hannibal before he left the study. He sighed at the headache and rubbed his wet eyes, trying to clear his unusually blurred vision.

When he stood, he had to hold himself steady beside his nightstand for a moment to allow the dizziness to pass. He made his way through the dim room to the attached bathroom, flicking the light on and wincing at the sharp pain it caused in his skull. He could hardly open his eyes. What he could make out, though, was the yellow sticky note on his bathroom mirror that read "Luis Thompson / 32 / Lancaster / ex Paper Mill" on it as a daily reminder of his new identity. He couldn't risk unintentionally exposing his true information and disappointing Hannibal. Additionally, he was very reluctant to moving again. 

He had to give Hannibal credit, though, because the identities he'd found for the two of them were spot on.

Hannibal had connections. Through plenty of research and hours of digging, an unfortunate soul named Felix Madsen was uncovered. He was a decently wealthy hermit that although had the materials to do so, never threw extravagant parties or events to show off his wealth. He had earned quite a bit of money after taking over his fathers Paper Mill company in Lancaster, UK, but he hardly cared for the company itself. He sold the business for upwards of one hundred and thirty seven million euros to a larger business to rid himself of the responsibility while simultaneously getting rid of competition for the other company. Since then, he'd moved to Prague and lived in a remote area away from media attention, although not many people cared about him much anyway. He expected to live the rest of his days in quiet luxury, but unfortunately for him, his life was going to come to an abrupt end soon after obtaining his wealth.

No wife on record, no children on record, and a secluded blurred face of an older man; it seemed as if this identity theft was being laid out for Hannibal on a silver platter. It was perfect. All he needed to do was take his place and hope no one would realize a different man was living in that home, and more importantly, that Felix didn't hire any staff for housekeeping or get a girlfriend in the meantime. If he was questioned, there's no doubt about how he'd handle the situation to keep anyone from compromising his new life.

Luis Thompson was a vague man from the Paper Mill Hannibal chose for Will in order to just easily slip him into this area with Felix. He had his anonymous connection search through every single early-thirties male that worked at the Mill on the bottom of the employment chain, with no families, no large community responsibilities, and so on. With all limitations, four men showed up in the results. One of which seemed very close with his small group of friends all over Facebook, so he was removed. Another was a recently convicted child molester, so he was also quickly removed. Out of the two remaining men, Luis appeared to be the less social one. He didn't even have social media accounts, nor did he appear to be in touch with any relatives. No criminal record, no signs of him on any kind of newspaper or news channel. And most importantly of all, he'd moved seven times previous to his current home before finally landing a cubicle position at the Paper Mill. In other words, he has a history of moving both abruptly and often. That's what brought Hannibal to his decision; Will would now be Luis, and he would quietly move with Felix to Prague. It was seamless.

It turned out to be somewhat of a chore to remove Luis from their to-do list, so he was the first person Hannibal and Will visited. Their recent injuries from the fall didn't make the labor components of it any easier. 

Luis was currently unemployed due to losing his Paper Mill job, so that wasn't an issue. He was struggling to pay his mortgage because of this and his house was already prepared for repossession. Will remained blocks away from Luis's home while Hannibal went to take care of him late at night, agreeing to meet him near a gas station out of view of any possible surveillance cameras. When Hannibal finally arrived nearly three hours later dressed in different clothing, he cautiously parked Luis's car at the corner of a quiet street and went to get Will on foot without drawing attention to himself. They proceeded to drive on the most empty streets they could find until they finally arrived at a bushy area beside a body of water with little to no surrounding houses. It was very late at night, so no sane people would be out by the lake at this time anyhow. 

When Hannibal opened the trunk, a metallic smell filled the air around them. It was all too familiar for Will, but it didn't bring any negative emotions upon him. It reminded him of his recent embrace with Hannibal. The pair spent the next ten minutes carefully and quietly dropping cinderblocks with deflated and heavy black garbage bags attached to them into the water, off the far edge of the dock. It was an estimated 80-120 foot drop around that area. Will even remembers Hannibal making a disappointed comment on how much meat they were wasting. 

Finally, all traces of Luis were deep under the black void of the water. Hannibal made sure to allow no room for bloating or air bubbles that would risk the bags floating to the top of the water. He'd destroyed Luis's fingertips, carefully dismembered all of his limbs at the joint, smashed most of his teeth and facial bones to scatter around the city, and made sure to mutilate any possibly recognizable parts of his body, such as his face or the quote about God's judgement tattooed across his bicep. He kept a large piece of Luis's jawbone. 

The dismemberment of Luis followed strangulation. This of course lead to plenty of blood all over the kitchen floor tiles as well as a bloody cleaver, but Hannibal was meticulous about the amount of towels he'd set up around him. Clean up wasn't entirely hard, he cleaned the blood from every surface and bagged up the bloody towels and clothes. He mixed them with bleach inside the garbage bags they'd sent down to the bottom of the lake to destroy any trace of his own DNA. The cleaver was cleaned of every sign of Hannibal and Luis and placed back in the kitchen drawer. Hannibal packed Luis's suitcase and made sure to leave some unimportant things strewn about as well as some drawers open to stage a sudden run-away. 

There were thousands of possible outcomes where Luis would be found or searched for and Hannibal and Will would somehow get caught, but that was a risk Hannibal was more than happy to take. No risk, no reward. 

The agonizing issue for them both was the fact they were both still very hurt, yet wouldn't admit it. Neither of them had access to painkillers at this time, and the stitching the terrified veterinarian had done for them at knifepoint could only do so much. Every move was excruciating, especially for Hannibal, but he was far too prideful to admit it. Every step, every swing of the cleaver, every heavy lift made him dizzy with pain.

Perhaps the most unfortunate part of it all was that Luis couldn't just die suddenly half-asleep to spare him of psychological anguish. He was innocent, so Hannibal had no reason to want to harm him. He was awoken by a stranger with a knife to his throat, then told to write his own run-away letter. Communication between the two was somewhat difficult because the man was so shaken up and hysterical that he could hardly function. This didn't make Hannibal feel guilty, of course, just somewhat irritated because time was dragging on. Eventually, Luis could hold his pen still enough to actually keep it in his hand. He begged and sobbed desperately as he wrote in shaky letters: 

"I apologize for leaving so suddenly, but I couldn't stand another day of this depression. I fully consent to repossession of my home. Unemployment is not easy. I have decided to use my savings to move elsewhere in hopes of finding new employment and maybe some friends. I apologize for leaving my furniture, but I don't have time to sell it or take it to the landfill myself. I don't need the rest of my belongings because I have taken all of my valuables with me. Do with it all what you will, perhaps use the money made from selling some of it to pay for the hole in the drywall of the front room. I struggled with moving a dresser by myself and rammed it into the wall. I apologize for that as well.

Cheers.

\- L.T."

Hannibal had the man leave the note on the table along with the deed to his home. After thoroughly assuring there was no kind of surveillance or security system, the poor fool, Luis was as good as dead. Hannibal made his death as quick and painless as possible because he was in no way discourteous or to blame for any issue. He was simply unlucky.

Next came another important part; the car. Hannibal opted for removing the license plates and burning the rest. They wore sunglasses and ball caps to three separate gas stations and purchased over sixty dollars in gas total, plus one bottle of lighter fluid. They collected all of their belongings and drove over three hours to Edinburgh, found a grassy field, and used the remaining gas from their trip to set the car aflame. Hannibal emptied the lighter fluid container in the trunk, under the hood, and where the two men had sat for the trip. They watched from a bit of a distance to assure the VIN numbers would be obliterated, then melted the license plates down along with it on the hood. When the characters were no longer at all distinguishable, they left. The car exploded very soon after.

It was quite a walk from there back to the closest motel, but due to the time being around five in the morning, they had no chance of hitchhiking. They finally arrived at an Inn and checked in under the name "Chas Williams" in cash, in the same disguises as before, although a hat and glasses didn't do much for the stitches across Wills face. They slept for a couple of hours before checking out in the same day, heading to the airport in a taxi and waiting another three hours for the next flight to Prague.

They were going to find out if their false identities would work a second time, as they did in the United States airport. It was very adrenaline inducing for Will, but Hannibal was as calm as ever. Luckily, it went smoothly and they didn't even get a second glance at TSA. The security guard standing behind the X-ray machine eyed Wills face due to the gash, but he soon lost interest and Will moved along. Will was thankful that their seats were distant from one another, though, because this extremely exhausting and painful last few days didn't change how angry he still was at Hannibal.

One layover and five hours later, they arrived in Prague at about 10 pm. They checked into another Inn under the name of 'Philip Smith' for more rest until later in the night. After they checked out, Hannibal paid a short visit to Felix's home after one in the morning when he was sure the man would be in bed. Will waited outside within the shrubs lining the tall walls around his home until Hannibal resurfaced, blood all over his face and hands, from the house. After hours of clean-up and preparation, they had their first good meal since fleeing the United States. The seats around the table that they had chosen that night became the seats they sat at every night from then on. 

Now, although the house was impeccable, it wasn't gratuitously large. Granted, with one single soul living in it, it didn't need to be. There were three large bedrooms, two of which had an attached bathroom, one did not. There was one more bathroom at the end of the hallway past Wills room and the study. Across from the study, which was beside Wills room, was the empty bedroom that they had no use for. Across from Wills room was Hannibal's, but he never dared to enter it. The door always remained closed. 

Leaving the hallway, the kitchen was on the right and the living room was on the left. It was a very wide open space with plenty of large windows and shining surfaces. There was a sharp contrasting line where the white kitchen tiles met the dark living room and dining room wood floors. Hannibal couldn't decide whether or not he liked the way it looked, and Will didn't care. There was a long table with a dozen chairs beside the dining room window, not too close to the kitchen island. Hannibal had taken his most prized knife set with him. He was still working on redoing the kitchen, but as of now he was content enough with it. Luis had generally good taste.

The living room was lined with black suede furniture and white curtains. There was a black and white shag carpet atop the dark wood floors of the living room. The chestnut coffee table nearly always held some sort of tacky centerpiece decor, but Hannibal seemed to constantly change it. He was never fully happy with his living space. 

Will, on the other hand, had not asked to change a thing about the house. He never pointed anything out that he believed could use some sort of change or redesign. Hannibal had to choose the bed, dresser, lamp, shower curtain, and so on for Wills room because he wouldn't. The only things Will had technically chosen were his clothes, but it really came down to Hannibal buying the things that Will didn't straightforwardly say he hated. At this point, he had two pairs of shoes, four pairs of pants, seven shirts, three jackets, three flannels, one swimsuit, pajamas, and some fishing gear. Although, he hardly ever went fishing around here. He feared the idea of being recognized from the news or internet. 

He wasn't aware of how many things Hannibal had in his room or closet, but frankly, he didn't care. He hardly ever paid attention to the designs or colors of Hannibal's clothing, he must recognized whether or not it was a suit. Usually it was when they stayed at home. 

They've laid rather low since their arrival, so Hannibal often opted for casual wear when he left the house to avoid attracting attention to himself. Will had to admit, it was a strange sight. He couldn't shake the image of Hannibal in a plain white T-shirt for several hours after seeing it. It just didn't seem like Hannibal at all; he didn't really recognize him the same.

Things were already tense between the two men even before last night. Since they killed the Great Red Dragon together on that fateful day, things were just different overall. Will couldn't quite pinpoint if it was a good or bad thing for the few weeks after. Following their conversation that abruptly ended with Will leaving the room, though, the answer was loud and undeniable. He still couldn't decide if it was a relief or a terrifying reality.

As Will stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a towel low on his hips with a sigh. He looked in the mirror at someone he didn't even recognize. The stab wounds in his face and shoulder hurt far less than the broken wrist that had healed incorrectly due to his silence about the pain, but he was sure Hannibal was in worse condition. Most of the bruising across essentially the entire left side of his body had yellowed by now, but they were still sore. He looked down at his wrist and carefully bent it back and forth, wincing when it made a quiet pop sound and shot an electric volt up his hand. He quickly shoved the memory of it away. 

He looked down at the smiley across his lower abdomen with a dismal frown. He was covered in ugly scars that made him dread looking in the mirror at all. Every single one of them just seemed like Hannibal's signature to him, that of which was written in every place he looked. He felt as if Hannibal marked him on purpose to give him a constant reminder of his existence, and it made Will angry. 

The pads of his feet quietly made their way into his room and he opened his curtain enough to be able to see with the sunlight. All he could think of since he'd woken up was that dream he had. What stayed with him the most was the fact not only did it seem very real, but he could actually feel the antlers tearing through him before he woke up. It was more unbearable than he could have ever imagined it to be. What was worse about it all, though, was the fact it was Hannibal who did it in the first place. Will wasn't sure why he was so upset by it. He couldn't shake the feeling Hannibal truly wanted to do this to him, and his feelings were hurt. Perhaps it was because Hannibal had actually tried to kill him more than once, and last night, he had the epiphany Hannibal wanted to sleep beside him in an affectionate way before he had that dream. That made it virtually feel like a lie.

Of course, Will knew that Hannibal didn't do it. But that made no difference in the fact that he felt betrayed and devastated by it. What truly upset him was that he let his guard down and cried in front of Hannibal, he begged him not to hurt him and yet he killed him anyway. Not only that, but he smiled with glee as he did it. It made him fear ever being emotional around the man in the future, because then he'd just get hurt anyway and still look like a weak fool in the meantime.

He gently ran his fingertips across the smiley. Underneath all of the layers of hatred and disgust he held toward the scar, it was admittedly beautiful in a way. He couldn't describe why he felt that way or what exactly it was that he felt. Mainly, that if he were given the choice for it to have never happened and in turn rid himself of the ugly scar, he wouldn't think twice before kindly saying no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter didn't drag on and on. I had a lot of information I wanted to give without writing about it in more than one chapter. I'm not a professional killer and identity theft, so pls don't attack me. 
> 
> Wills nightmare revealed a lot of his emotional baggage, don't ya think? There will be more. I thought it'd be really cool to use his very intricate nightmare materials from the show to kind of explain how he feels about certain things in this story, if that makes sense. In other words, Wills nightmares will reveal his true feelings about certain things throughout the story. We'll see where that leads.
> 
> What'd you think of the contents of this chapter? Let me know in the comments! :)


	4. Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait. There are quite a few words in this chapter because it didn't feel right to end it anywhere other than the place that I did, so it took me a while to edit and such. Enjoy!

There was a quiet knock on Wills bedroom door. He was sitting on the upper edge of his bed pulling socks onto his feet when he looked up through his glasses toward the sound, quickly concluding it was Hannibal. The weather in Prague was generally on the chilly side anyway, but considering the fact it was summer and only peaking in the mid-sixties Fahrenheit compared to mid-eighties in Wolf Trap, the wooden floor was particularly cold. It was 8 am sharp, after all. This was usually the time Hannibal woke him up with a welcoming smile and a cup of hot coffee, two cubes of sugar and no milk. 

Ever since the move, Will would have a gentle awakening, starting his day off with a discreet smile and a warm chest. Of course, this was followed by Hannibal's regular belittling comments and petty arguments later in the day, but that didn't necessarily matter to Will during sincere moments like these. He loved receiving this routine gesture, if he were honest, and it promoted his beliefs that he'd finally settled on a semi-healthy relationship with sleep. The pleasant feeling it gave him encouraged him to ignore the fact he felt heavily sleep deprived and weighted every day.

However, now that he was woken up before the usual time by this sudden nightmare, he was worried that wasn't truly the case. If this became a reoccurring thing again, he'd lose all hope for his supposedly improving mental health. What caused this manifestation? Why did such a strange fear he hadn't had since before defeating the Great Red Dragon return like that? Why was Hannibal such a harsh antagonist? But then he realized, the answer was in his question. 

Ultimately, Hannibal was the cause, and Hannibal was the effect. He was the background noise, the temptation and fear, the seduction, the creation, the lurking, the addiction, the death, the sin; Hannibal was the devil. 

Hannibal was the devil, and Will was the deafening disciple that could only seem to construct his judgement based on Hannibal's inconceivable beauty. Unfortunately for him, the devils deceit is hidden primarily within his words; those of which Will could scarcely hear. The acknowledgment and acceptance of the lies and trickery were far from Wills reach, but that was by choice. All he decided to grasp was how Hannibal's allure intrigued him, and moreover angered him. Although subconsciously, he wasn't exceedingly foolish. The glimmer within the lustrous eyes of this so-called angel held a darkness Will could see with his heightened visionary perception, that of which he seemed to always forget he had experienced firsthand. He knew better, and he somewhat acted on that knowledge. He straightforwardly expressed a hatred towards Hannibal. 

Despite that, Will didn't quite see how much he distinctly followed close behind him. Hannibal was the shepherd, and Will was his sheep; his Lamb. He would spit words coursing with venom, but then grow sickeningly anxious if Hannibal stayed out on his errands longer than he said he was going to. He would refuse to look Hannibal in the eyes one day, but turn around and bother him for his attention when he didn't need it the next. He would insult the books Hannibal favored the most, but then he would read them in his spare time just so they could discuss them over dinner and he could bask in the astonished impression beaming in Hannibal's smile. Will would storm off into his room when Hannibal made him angry and then leave the door unlocked in high hopes he'd be followed.

He would hastily reject Hannibal's attempts to invite him into his bed, but then silently starve for a warm body beside him that same night. A particular warm body in fact, with a masculine physique and smooth skin, a hairy chest and clean shaven face, strong arms and broad shoulders, as well as invisible devil horns and razor sharp teeth. 

Will persistently dismissed these feelings however, because he had himself convinced Hannibal was in his head, fabricating them himself. It must have been some sort of sick mind game. Beauty and the devil are the same thing, after all.

As usual, Hannibal let himself in when he heard no objections. He had grown to presume Will was still asleep at this time. He gently pushed the door open with his foot and entered mindlessly, a mug in each hand. When he saw Will was awake and upright, he looked at him a bit surprised because this was rather unusual compared to previous morning encounters. Will watched his slight limp as he walked, the limp he'd only had since the fall, but neither of the men paid much attention to it. He left the door behind him cracked as he approached the bed and carefully handed Will the mug of piping hot coffee. 

"Good morning, Will." 

"Morning." He cradled the mug in his delicate hands as he let the steam open his pores and sinuses. He thoroughly enjoyed the scent of freshly ground coffee when he was tired like this. His eyes were closed, so he didn't catch Hannibal's admiring smile. 

"Did you sleep well?" 

He exhaled deeply, "Would you prefer a lie you'd like to hear or the truth that you seem to assume already?" Will joked.

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, "I don't particularly like liars." 

Ironic. 

Wills previously weak joking demeanor was gone, "No, I can't say I did sleep well."

Hannibal used his free hand to reach into his pocket and pull out a blister packet of two Aspirins. He handed it to Will, who silently took them and began popping them out one at a time, his mug sat on the nightstand beside him. He took both with a scolding swallow of coffee, exhaling a thankful sigh. He genuinely hoped this would help with the aches he's still feeling in his body from the fall. 

"Are you still in pain?"

"I have a headache. Usual hangover symptoms." 

"Not from the bourbon, Will. I'm referring to the fall." 

Wills movements seemed to freeze up for a split second. If he were honest, he was more than tired of talking about that incident. But that's a quirk Will noticed in Hannibal; the man loved to talk about anything he was reluctant to discussing. Anything that made Will visibly angry, uncomfortable or sick. 

He sighed, "Yes, Dr. Lecter. I still feel the effects of my injuries. But I know you do too, so why not discuss that?" 

"Last I recall, Will, I'm not your patient. You're mine." 

"I'm not your patient anymore. And even if I used to be, I was your psychiatric patient, you weren't my primary care physician. Physical problems were technically never any of your business." 

"If they affected you psychologically, they were most definitely my business. You can't receive proper psychiatric care if you're not completely transparent with your doctor about all things."

"Who said my injuries were affecting me psychologically?"

"They're bringing you back to a painful moment in your life. The moment of your becoming, and the moment you decided to abandon everything you knew prior to it. They evoke memories of everything you lost when they cause you pain. You're depressed, Will. That much is apparent."

"I woke up early, unaided, and I decided to shower. I dressed myself, I have stayed out of bed since I woke up, and I was prepared to leave my room before you came in. Aren't all of those signs of minimal to no depression? I know what being depressed feels like, Dr. Lecter, and I'm far from it."

"You're in denial. You seem to neglect the fact I am a psychiatrist and I can see even the most obscure signs of certain mood disorders."

"I know you're a licensed doctor. I know you have a medical degree and I know you have a degree in psychology as well. But it's your fault I refuse to seriously consider your diagnoses; you lost my trust long ago. Do you not remember the encephalitis incident? Or the human fish hooks? What about shoving Abigails ear down my throat? All those nights I spent in a suffocating cell for the things you did?"

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, "I remember it all very well."

Will gave him the same look, "Then you must understand, true reconcilement can never cultivate where wounds of immense resentment have been slashed this deeply."

Silence filled the room.

"I'm ready to prepare breakfast if you'd like to join me."

After several moments of quietude, Will wordlessly stood, following Hannibal out of his room with the half-empty mug still between his hands.

________

Will took his place at the table while Hannibal cooked, watching as the man took various ingredients from the refrigerator and cabinets. He spotted eggs, olive oil, tomatoes, and an eggplant. There was more, but it was out of his field of vision.

"Where is it that you're experiencing pain?" Hannibal spoke loud enough for Will to easily hear him, but because of the spaciousness of the kitchen and dining room, it was barely above his regular speaking volume. That's when Will looked away from the man and focused on the painting of a daisy field on the wall instead. Hannibal could see the annoyance in his face.

"I'm not pressuring you about the psychological aspects, Will. I see that you're highly reluctant to allowing me back in. I'm simply going to find the physical medical issues and fix them."

He sighed after a long moment, "Mainly my wrist and my shoulder. My back is bruised but the healing is steadily progressing."

"Do you need an alignment brace for your wrist?" The only sound aside from his voice was the consistent chopping on a cutting board.

"No."

Hannibal seemed agitated after Wills stubborn declination. The closing of that cabinet was particularly louder than the others.

"Are your stab wounds showing any signs of bleeding or reopening?" 

"No. They're healing fine. But I've removed some of the stitches from my stomach myself."

"You were instructed to leave those be until further notice. If you don't trust me, trust the word of that veterinarian that stitched you in the first place. I understand my opinion is evidently subjective to you, but his professional opinion is truly for the greater good." The displeasure was clear in Hannibal's voice.

"It just hurts a little when I stretch the tissue, that's all. It's not as if I'm going to bleed out from cutting a few stitches here and there. It's not as if you'd mind it if I did bleed to death, anyway." He mumbled the last sentence, knowing Hannibal would hear it anyway. The older man knew he was referring to the night he sliced him open, however he refused to acknowledge his own feelings of the subject overall.

Hannibal sighed. Will could now hear the sound of something sautéing on the stovetop, the smell of tomatoes and spices filling the air around him. This is how it remained for the next half hour; Will silently guessing each vegetable as it cooked, and Hannibal silently cooking. Soon enough, he smelled frying eggs and toast. It was truly mouthwatering. 

When the scent of pork became more prominent, Will couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He wondered if this pig was a pitiful soul that Hannibal picked exclusively out of sustenance necessity, or if it deliberately bit his hand when he knelt down to feed it. Eat the rude, Will recalled hearing him remark on one occasion.

Just as his stomach began to growl, Will spotted Hannibal pulling two plates from their place in the cabinet. He thought back to the china he had broken in his fit of rage the night before. Now that he thought about it, he smirked to himself with pride, because no one has ever acted that way in front of Hannibal and survived to see the next sunrise. No one has ever put their hands on Hannibal without leaving the situation with a serious injury, or in a body bag for that matter. Furthermore, Hannibal has likely never taken it upon himself to clean up someone else's deliberate mess like that either. Nor has Hannibal been the one to approach the offender with a peace offering, or in other words, a drink by the fireplace. 

Hannibal didn't seem to realize it, but Will most certainly did; Will had just as much of a hold on Hannibal as Hannibal did Will. It was inexplicably gratifying.

Will glanced up at the older man as he exited the kitchen with two plates supported on one arm and the coffee pot in the other. He looked down at his dish as it was placed in front of him, and God, it smelled delectable.

"Ratatouille toast with fried eggs and bacon."

He refilled Wills mug and pushed the sugar cubes closer to him so he could sweeten it as much as he desired. Will chose only one cube. 

As always, Hannibal walked to the far side of the table to serve Will first before circling around the other side and refilling his own mug. He returned the ordinary pot to the coffee maker in the kitchen to keep it warm before returning to his seat. He still thought about his luxurious old coffee maker from time to time. Will watched his usual mannerisms as he sat with proper posture and held his silverware with a certain elegance. Personally, though, he couldn't care less about manners. He sat with a bit of a slouch and sometimes set his used silverware directly on the table. If he were honest, he enjoyed the disapproval he received from Hannibal for it. Actually, his manners have gotten worse since they've met each other.

As Hannibal began cutting his toast with his fork and knife, Will picked it up with his bare hand like a regular piece of toast and took a bite directly out of the side of it. He smirked when he saw Hannibal's silverware still, and his gaze shift from his food to the table in front of the plate, as if he were trying not to glare directly at Will. 

"It's delicious." He spoke with a mouthful of food. He had bits of herbs and olive oil shining on his lips.

Hannibal didn't answer. 

As Hannibal clenched and unclenched his jaw before proceeding to cut his food, Will picked up his coffee and took a weary sip of the hot liquid. 

"Did you have a bad dream last night, Will?"

Prolonging the sip and scolding the inside of his mouth, Will calmly swallowed and set the mug back down. He needed the extra few seconds to construct his reply, which would be crucial to the rest of this vexatious conversation, after all. Tears brimmed his eyes because of the unpleasant feeling of his mouth and throat being burned. 

"Why do you ask?"

"I take that as a yes." He looked down at his plate with a lecherous look, "I overheard it."

"What do you mean you overheard it?" He shot a confused glimpse at Hannibal, who looked up from his plate as well. His expression was blank again, as always.

"Exactly how it sounds. I heard talking and mumbling in your bedroom from where I was in my bedroom. They are very close to each other, after all. But I thought nothing of it and carried on with my reading. I was in the kitchen when I heard you scream."

Will was embarrassed, to say the least. He immediately thought about how it was rude of Hannibal to leave him suffering in his sleep like that, but then he realized Hannibal probably didn't even think to wake him up. He needs to continuously remind himself that Hannibal's mind doesn't work the way most other, much more empathetic minds do. He thoughtfully nibbled on the inside of his lip as he shifted his gaze at his food again. 

"Ah. I didn't know I was vocal in my sleep."

Hannibal silently smacked his lips and narrowed his gaze, smirking. The embarrassment and anxious energy that began radiating from Will was rather divine.

"Would you be against explaining the events that caused such an externally-driven response?" 

"Nothing important, Dr. Lecter. I was just reliving some things from the past that have sort of . . . manifested, I guess you could say, in the meantime."

He could tell Will was lying. Hannibal knew that innovative, magnificent brain of his must have designed something absurdly grim. Whatever it was wouldn't have been a realistic occurrence, he knew that much. Will didn't fear reality that much. It'd have been some sort of mythical creature or person, a make-believe setting, horrific things surrounding him that would collectively overwhelm his mind. Of course, Hannibal wasn't a mind reader and thus he didn't precisely know what Will dreamed of, but he had a powerful sneaking suspicion that he himself was the antagonist creature. He didn't quite fear reality, but he sure did fear most things surrounding Hannibal.

"I see." He stated simply, "Was Abigail there with you?" 

Will swallowed, "No, she wasn't."

"Was Dr. Bloom?"

"No."

"Jack Crawford?" 

"No." His jaw clenched.

"Garret Jacob Hobbs?"

"No, Dr. Lecter."

"Was Dolarhyde?"

Will sighed in irritation, "Why are you being so persistent? You shouldn't psychoanalyze me at breakfast. It's impolite." 

Hannibal's eyes darkened with thrill, "Was I there, Will?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." He picked the toast up a second time and took a large bite to fill his mouth completely, prohibiting speaking for the time being. 

Well, that was the only answer Hannibal needed. Will still didn't seem to comprehend that Hannibal didn't need a distinct yes or no to get the answer he was seeking. He effortlessly read it in the subject. 

"What were you doing to me?"

Will kept his eyes on his plate as he chewed. His metacarpals raised underneath his skin when his hands tensed in impatience.

"Or rather, what was I doing to you?"

Will stood so suddenly that his chair nearly fell backwards. It made a crude screeching noise against the floor when it was pushed back, and the items on the dinner table shook. Will began walking in the direction of the hallway.

"Will, wait." Hannibal cut in, his voice graced with a bit more perturbed emotion than usual. The resonance alone made Will stop in his tracks. 

"I didn't intend to run you back to your bedroom. I was simply conversing how I have learned to, as a psychiatrist. My job is to draw personal and troubling information from people in order to help them discover its roots. To help them overcome it." 

Will paused, then his head fell forward somewhat. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled.

"What I was aiming to do was assist you, not upset you."

Will laughed darkly and remained turned away, "that's what you say every time you realize you did or said something improper. You never admit you did something wrong, you never apologize for it, you never acknowledge the fact most of what you do and say is immoral. You always opt for making an excuse as to why what you did was acceptable and why I should feel bad for not being okay with it."

"We simply share different perspectives."

Wills fists began to clench at his sides and his head was turned slightly in Hannibal's direction, he seemed to get increasingly frustrated.

"Everyone shares different perspectives on nearly all things, Dr. Lecter. But when your 'perspective' begins impeding on other people, that is where the issue lies. Your perspective of this situation is that I have a predicament and you would like solve it, or realistically worsen it, but what you're doing is creating a much deeper issue for me instead. You can think and desire whatever you like, but don't directly include me in any of it." 

"Is there a reason you're rather temperamental this morning, Will?" 

He chuckled, "You're doing it again." 

"I'm not going to resurface any demons. I'm simply asking if there is a way you and I can adjust your pessimistic attitude." 

"What's the point of asking me?" He sighed with irritation, "You'd never allow it." 

"Enlighten me." 

Will turned around with a serious expression on his face, but there was an underlying pleading there as well. The reflection of the bright sunlight coming through the large dining room windows against Wills glasses made it difficult for Hannibal to look into his eyes, but regardless, the desperation was so thick in the air he could smell it. 

"I want to go out somewhere."

Hannibal turned his body in his chair, narrowing his gaze. 

"Elaborate."

"We haven't left this house for recreational activities since we moved here. We haven't had any enjoyable experiences whatsoever. I want to go to a bar, a club, a party, anything at all that will have alcohol and someone other than you to interact with." 

"You understand the reason-."

"I know exactly why we don't go out and show our faces, Dr. Lecter, but I seriously doubt any drunk person in a dark club will recognize us from the news. Hell, I doubt any person here knows who we are anyway. It's just one measly night of fun for the cost of a small risk."

"You don't speak Czech, or German, or any foreign language of the sort for that matter. How are you expecting to interact with people you can't verbally communicate with?"

"I'm not dull, Dr. Lecter. I know that a surprising amount of Czech youth knows at least a bit of English. Besides, there's always the chance I'll run into an English-speaking tourist. If all else fails, I'll drink until I'm overly comfortable with myself and I'll communicate with people on the dance floor through movement."

There was a moment of tension in Hannibal's stare, but then he realized this kind of night could be a huge learning experience for them both. For him, he'll get to see if Will will betray him and give himself to someone else; if Will is loyal. For Will, he'll find out just how much it bothers him to see Hannibal becoming intimate and flirtatious with another person. He figured he could swallow his pride and make him extremely jealous to start the process of Wills realization that he's in fact infatuated with Hannibal, too. He just needs to let go of his grudge. It's only a matter of time.

Hannibal huffed out of his nose and pursed his lips with thought. He looked Will from head to toe, then he sat upright in his seat, returning to cutting his now room temperature breakfast. 

"You and I are allowed two hours in one of the local bars or clubs, I will research places with little to no surveillance myself after I finish my meal. We will bring 2000 Czech crown cash plus cab money as our spending limit. That is all. However, this is all under one condition." He looked up from his plate at the newly eager face to his left, then pointed his knife in the direction of Wills chair. 

"You sit back down and respectfully finish your meal."

________

The moment Hannibal exited the cab, he regretted his decision to come to such a crowded area. The amount of obnoxious women in skanky dresses and horny men wearing excessive amounts of cheap cologne was absolutely repulsive. More so than Wills aftershave, he noted. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all. 

He'd chosen a club rather than a bar because the volume of the music made it difficult to verbally communicate, therefore prohibiting a drunken Will from saying something foolish that could get them in trouble. Not only that, but this particular club was about half an hour from their home in an area the men hardly visited, which was beneficial for their identity secrecy. Hannibal didn't want to be seen by any particular person very often, because that would make his face recognizable to far too many people.

After deciding on the nightclub they would attend, Will was in a much happier mood for the rest of the day. He had about twelve hours until the club even opened, so he spent several of them pacing around the house, counting floor and wall tiles, creating new names for various shades of colors, and touching every wall in the house twice. He went into the hot tub outside for a short amount of time before realizing it meant he needed to shower again, irritating him enough to where he got out and did so. He read a few chapters of one of Hannibal's books whilst laying in his own bed with damp hair, sorted through his messy sock drawer and reorganized it, and ended up taking a short nap afterward. When he woke up with a lurch, he realized he was only out for about twenty minutes, which made him sigh in frustration and lay flat on his bed again. It seemed as if time couldn't pass fast enough. 

For Hannibal, on the other hand, time was passing far too quickly. Eternity wouldn't have been long enough for him to prepare for this upcoming night. He spent most of his adult life growing used to seclusion, one-on-one interactions with patients, dinner parties, and at the most, sophisticated galas with snotty people and classical music. The most chaotic things he needed to experience were occasional grocery store trips and the cases he worked on with Will, Alana, Jack and the rest of the crew. Actually, he'd never even been to a nightclub before this. It never interested him. The heat, the stuffy air, the filthy promiscuity, the stench of sweat and cheap alcohol amongst many other contributors, the ridiculous amount of people jammed into one building full of atrociously deafening electronic music; none of it appealed to him whatsoever.

Now here he was, agreeing to this nonsense simply because he didn't want Will to hate him any more than he already did. 

Finally, about half an hour before the club opened, both of them began getting dressed. Will opted for a red and white flannel shirt with dark blue jeans while Hannibal opted for a suit, per usual. Although because of the overly-dignified persona it emanated, Hannibal decided to leave the suit jacket behind at home. Instead, he wore a blood red button up shirt with the suits black slacks. The sleeves were rolled up neatly and the very top button remained undone. He skipped the hair gel as well, because he knew he'd blend in far more with a less clean-cut style. As always, he spritzed himself with just a bit of his custom cologne, which gave him a pleasant, musky wood-like scent. It was specifically formulated to be seductive and almost natural smelling, which blended with his natural smell to create something magical. He's never received any complaints about it, after all, but the polar opposite.

Will wore contact lenses instead of his glasses. Mostly because he believed he simply looked better without them, but also because he didn't want them to fall off and get stepped on while he was on the dance floor. He gave his facial hair a bit of a trim before applying his aftershave, somewhat out of spite for Hannibal and the rude comments he makes in it. He hoped it burned Hannibal's keen-smelling nostrils for the rest of the night.

The cab ride was silent. The driver made no indication of seeking conversation, which both Will and Hannibal were especially grateful for. They gazed out at magnificent darkening buildings through their own windows as the passed down the roads, eyeing the various shapes and sizes of people on the streets. There were many incredibly attractive women out there, Will noted, although he really felt no desire to approach any of them. All he saw were the women who haunted him from his past. He sighed and turned his head so he was looking past the headrest of the drivers seat and out of the front windshield. This drive was dragging on and on.

Thankfully, they arrived with no traffic-related issues that could have potentially prolonged the drive quite a bit. Hannibal promptly payed the man, thanked him in Czech, and proceeded to exit the car. They passed many different people on their way to the line, most of which were speaking mainly Czech, even Polish, or occasionally, English. Will himself couldn't quite decipher the languages he was hearing, but he felt very relieved when he heard a few familiar words spoken in thick accents within the crowd. Hannibal, however, understood almost all of what he was hearing. That was simply because he knew how to listen in based on corresponding words from the other languages he already knew. Many languages share partial or even full words, after all.

They came to a halt at the back of the line and kept to themselves, waiting about three to four feet away from the people in front of them. They could hear the pulsating beat of the music through the red brick walls. Luckily, since the club had only been open for about an hour and it wasn't completely dark outside, there was roughly thirty people in line before them. It wouldn't be a terrible wait. 

"What language was that?" Will cut in after a few minutes of silence. Between the men, at least, because every person surrounding them was chatting up a storm with either the people they came with or another party on a cellphone. It was uncomfortably loud, but both Hannibal and Will decided that was fine because it'd keep most attention away from them. They spoke very faintly to ensure no one around them would catch on to what they were discussing.

"It was Czech. I presumed it was his first language, and luckily, I was correct."

"I didn't know you spoke Czech."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Will." He gave the brunet a small smile, that of which Will naturally returned. The innocent gesture made Hannibal smile even bigger, showing a bit of his sharp teeth and deepening the lines on either side of his nose. 

"And it goes much further than what languages I can speak."

"I wouldn't doubt that. When have you found the time to learn how to speak it? I haven't seen any Czech dictionaries lying around." He joked. Will emanated a rather positive attitude, especially considering the way he had acted and talked to Hannibal in the recent weeks. It was certainly refreshing. 

Hannibal chuckled, "it is much more efficient to do things before they are necessary to be done. You understand this evasion was meticulously planned months in advance, correct?" Will nodded, "It would be unwise to stop at finding a home and identities to acquire. You need to fully immerse yourself in the life you're taking on, educate yourself in any crucial and non-crucial information pertaining to all aspects of their life. Know their favorite restaurant and what they regularly order there. Know the name of their high school sweetheart and which university they attended, if any at all. Know of their past or current debts and worst heartbreaks. Most importantly, know all of their lines of work, what languages they speak, and any traumas that could have altered their character in some way. Such as an instinctive flinch when someone comes toward them too quickly because they were surrounded by unkind hands as a child. You can't be a convincing Luis if you don't truly put yourself in his shoes." 

Will pursed his lips in thought. He clearly hadn't put as much thought into Luis as Hannibal had put into Felix. Hell, he didn't even know if Luis had been divorced or not, if he was vegetarian or always craved red meat, if he had any allergies or took any medication, if he feared heights or spiders, nor did he know his middle name off the top of his head. Perhaps he should ask Hannibal to assist him in learning as much information on his new identity as possible after their breakfast in the morning, because he would hate to be the reason someone became suspicious of them and began to dig. Especially if they found something.

"Which reminds me, you need to make absolutely sure you call me by Felix and nothing else, especially if we interact with others. I understand you have very little experience in referring to me as my alter ego because we have hardly left our home together, but it's essential in the potential we have in comfortably remaining where we are." 

"I'll try my best."

"It would be very wise to drink cautiously. If you become excessively intoxicated, you may lose your mental filter and begin telling others of your past life instead of your current one. I would be extremely disappointed if you compromised us both because you irresponsibly ingested too much alcohol." 

Will swallowed thickly, "I understand."

They turned to the front of the line to see they had edged much closer to the bouncer, a group of four or five young men and women still waiting in front of them. They seemed to have come as a group due to the fact they all exchanged loud conversation in a small circle, or perhaps one group had approached the other and they all agreed on spending time together in the club. After all of them finally managed to get their IDs out and allowed the bouncer to study them one-by-one, the rope was pulled back and they all excitedly entered through the main doorway. 

Will began feeling increasingly neurotic as he took his wallet from his back pocket. He didn't know why, because his ID successfully got him through the especially authoritative American TSA, and this was just a security guard at a club in Europe. Hannibal did the same although they were both clearly over the drinking age of eighteen, but unlike Will, he was perfectly calm and collected. His face hardly even faltered, as if he'd done this a million times before. Even though Wills throat was restricting with anxiety, he maintained a semi-stable composure and handed the card over so smoothly the bouncer didn't really notice his hand was shaking. He did unfortunately notice Wills apprehensive energy, though, and he gave him a bit of a dubious look. He glanced between Will and his ID several times, and despite the fact he looked well over eighteen years of age and clearly matched the photo, there was unquestionably something very off-putting about him in the eyes of the bouncer. Wills calm demeanor seemed to fall apart at the seams the longer the man eyed him down.

Hannibal observed the towering, impressively muscular man as he studied their well-fabricated identification cards. His eyes shifted from the small gold hoop in the mans right ear to the V-shaped neckline of his black shirt, the tight leather pants that hugged his massive thighs, down to the combat boots that the ankles of his pants were tucked into. It was essentially straight from the books. He hated to say it, but that disclosed everything he needed to know.

He hooked his left arm around the back of Wills neck, pulling him close to the side of his chest in a possessively affectionate gesture. He pressed his left cheek into his curly brown hair above his ear and chuckled, making eye contact with the bouncer and giving him a small, seductive smirk. Will was confused, but when he saw the pleasantly surprised change in the bouncers expression, he decided to follow along and smile shyly toward the ground. 

Hannibal finished it off with a subtle wink, in which the bouncer smiled slightly at as he reddened in the face. He simply handed their cards back and retracted the rope.

They both took their IDs and pocketed their wallets, nodding to the bouncer as they passed him to their right. Hannibal walked with a slow sway and brushed arms with him just enough to make it seem like a flirtatious touch. He knew the erotic scent of his musky cologne met the ingenuous senses of him when his pupils dilated and he seemed as if he wanted to turn and follow closely behind the two. He couldn't, of course, and Hannibal fed off of the newly formed lustful appetite radiating in the aura of the bouncer. They made eye contact again and Hannibal glanced at the mans parted lips, Will still clutched in the bend of his arm as they continued on past the thick sexual tension.

"What was that all about?" Will questioned as he pulled away from Hannibal's grasp, shivering a bit when they separated. The deeper they walked into the building, the louder they had to converse.

"I observed, analyzed, and acted upon what I deduced. It was a long shot, but he exhibited a certain comportment that allowed me to conclude something crucial within his character."

"Exactly what characteristic did you see?" 

"Oh please, Will, it's not very difficult to conclude in which direction one goes. Many go one way or the other, most go both, some go in all. I could sense that he strongly leaned in our direction."

"You're essentially telling me you could, um . . . sense his sexuality?" He gave Hannibal a strange look as they walked. It wasn't judgmental as one would assume, it was genuine curiosity. He didn't know Hannibal had a gaydar, nor did he know Hannibal had other keen senses other than scent. It was a bit intimidating to say the least.

"You could say that. I could tell he was far from promiscuous, possibly even sexually anorexic. He seemed lonely, as if he couldn't find someone that truly fit what he was searching for. Despite his masculine physique, his disposition was exceptionally feminine. Perhaps his muscular form is his way of covering up the sensitive man he is on the inside. Perhaps not. Either way, I know a homosexual man or woman when I see one, and I know when I don't."

Will stopped himself from jokingly asking what Hannibal observed in him, because he was afraid of what Hannibal would say. Hannibal had a certain way with words that could convince someone something of themselves that wasn't true to begin with. He struggled in separating his mind from Hannibal enough as it was, he didn't need the confidence of his sexuality to be sabotaged on top of that.

"I see. Well, you surely circumvented that issue. For a moment I believed he was going to interrogate me or simply turn me away. So thanks." 

Hannibal smiled and nodded, proceeding to enter the wide-open room from the narrow hallway. The walls of the hallway were off white, but the walls and ceiling of the tall room were a dark color of some sort. It was indistinguishable due to the constantly changing strobe lights lining the ceiling. 

It was pitch black aside from those colorful light fixtures he observed from the ground, no sign of sunlight or windows showing the outside world were in sight. Will thought a windowless room would make the area seem much more suffocating and he'd possibly become claustrophobic, but that wasn't the case. It was much fuller than it seemed to be from the outside, the dance floor already packed with blurry bodies and hearty laughter. The bar was surrounded by plenty of beautifully exotic women and rather attractive males that were fighting for their attention. The smell of alcohol, a combination of hundreds of colognes and perfumes, sweat, and plastic filled their noses. Hannibal's face scrunched up a bit at the overwhelming scents, but he knew he'd be able to ignore it soon enough. 

They walked deeper into the room, Hannibal following close behind the brunet. Will was going directly for the bar. When arrived, they waited about five minutes for the busy bartenders attention, both of them ordering whiskey neat on the rocks. Hannibal figured it'd be easier than attempting to get a glass of decent wine. Besides, he already knew they wouldn't have his usual deluxe brands in stock. They took their drinks, Hannibal paid for them and generously tipped the man, then together they proceeded toward an empty stand-up table much closer to the dance floor. 

When they arrived, they finally had a moment to breathe and stand still. No one was closely studying them now, no one was questioning their identity, no one was glaring suspiciously at Will. Everything had been neat and successful thus far, which was all Will could have asked for. He hated feeling forced under the spotlight like an interrogated criminal more than anything. 

He glanced over at Hannibal, who was already looking at him, an amber warmth in his eyes made it difficult for Will to look away. The older man smoothly sipped his whiskey, resting it within his hand on the elbow-height table. He leaned his weight onto his folded forearms and smiled, making Will return the gesture instinctively, who finally broke the eye contact when he did so. He couldn't make it go away either because every time he tried to make a straight face, he'd smile bigger. 

"Why are you smiling so much?" He questioned the best he could over the music, having to lean in closer to Hannibal when he spoke. In turn, the silver fox turned his head toward the table and edged his ear closer, chuckling when he could hear Wills smile in his question. Their faces remained so close they could feel the heat of each other's breath against their skin. 

"Because you're smiling." 

"What?" Will was making a move to take a drink, but it was postponed by his reply so his hand lowered from in front of his face. He had heard what Hannibal said, he just didn't quite understand what he meant by it. 

"As long as you're smiling, I will be, too." His sharp teeth were visible under the flashing lights hung above the DJ, "Unless it's because you found pleasure in my disfavor, then I likely wouldn't be smiling myself. Or perhaps I would, strictly due to the fact you smiled first." 

"Felix, are you hitting on me right now?" Will raised his eyebrow, but it was a playful gesture. The false name and grin he offered made that more evident.

Hannibal moved his body closer to Wills side so he was virtually hovering over him. He placed a hand against the younger mans lower back, "If I was hitting on you, you'd be terrified."

The mans giggly demeanor grew a bit confused, giving Hannibal a strange look when he pulled away. His back straightened against the warmth of Hannibal's hand, who was now looking down on him with a sly smile. If Will were honest, he'd grown to really enjoy the gesture. He knew when Hannibal looked at him that way he was truly in a good mood, and he was enjoying himself in whatever he was doing. It just so happened a majority of those doings were at Wills expense.

"Shall we dance?" He nodded his head in the direction of the dance floor, setting his drink down on the table and beginning his journey through the crowd. Will chugged the rest of his own drink with a slight retch and a shudder, then he eyed Hannibal's and decided to down that one as well. It'd probably be tampered with anyway, so he knew Hannibal wouldn't have touched it after leaving it unsupervised. It nearly forced its way back up past his soft palate, but he held it down as best as he could as he followed Hannibal as quickly as possible. He didn't want to lose him in the sea of other faces. That wouldn't realistically be easy since Will was so powerfully drawn by his scent and formal wear alone, but he wanted to be absolutely sure. 

The music and strobing flashes of color slowly overtook Wills senses. The lights throbbed in time with the beat of the song, electrocuting their feet and vibrating their rib cages. Their heart beats were lost in the intensity of the musical rhythm.

He was close enough to effortlessly reach out and touch Hannibal. The adulterate heat of the bodies around them was so unfamiliar, and sensing one familiar thing within their surroundings seemed to pull them together like magnets. They were being pushed closer together by carelessly dancing drunks, but couldn't hear themselves think enough to even consider confronting the people within their space. The drinks began hitting Will like a freight train, making him exceedingly numb and buoyant one by one. The older mans dark eyes never left Will as his swaying steps drew nearer and more loose. 

Thick as syrup, heavy as sin, Hannibal's body swayed gently while Wills began to fall in rhythm with the song, his hips rocking from side to side as his eyes slipped shut in a trance.

Time slowed to a stop. Will was suddenly pulled through reversed time, like a vacuum of space sucking him backwards into a void. He felt freezing cold, clammy, exhausted, and hurt. Seriously hurt; mortally wounded, in fact. He felt himself cry out in pain even though he heard nothing but static. 

Then, the pendulum swings. 

One . . 

Two . . .

Three. 

Slowing with each count, a dim golden glow swayed hypnotically in his mind before his eyes shot open in a dreadful panic.

He was falling. Falling far too rapidly to tell the truth, the cold wind whipping past his ears like a swarm of angry hornets. He was clutching someone else, and that someone else was none other than Hannibal. He looked up at the man with terror and confusion in his eyes when he realized he was going to relive the most physically painful moment of his life, the moment before leaving everything he knew behind to blindly run off with the man he hated so passionately. Hannibal emanated a warm, content peacefulness that couldn't calm Wills nerves in the slightest. 

No, he wasn't afraid of dying. He wasn't even entirely afraid of the torturous afterlife that conceivably awaited him. Truthfully, he didn't want to be the reason Hannibal died, but he was the one who initiated the fall. He was afraid of the guilt that would plague him for eternity.

Even still, he found himself wrapping his arms even tighter around Hannibal's shoulders. Tears poured from his eyes as they closed, preparing for the moment of his demise as he had several weeks ago. His face pressed against Hannibal's neck just as they collided with the freezing water overseen by the cliff. 

And oh god it hurt, it hurt like hell, but Will couldn't scream because the air had already been knocked out of his lungs so hard he couldn't draw any back in. His body was fully immersed in water both inside and out, because his attempts to react to the anguish that suddenly took him over caused him to breathe in through his mouth and nose. It felt close to what he imagined hitting concrete from the roof of a high building would feel like. It would have been so much worse, but Hannibal turned their bodies the best he could, and he had taken most of the fall.

He felt an angel grab him by the hands and pull him out of the sea. He was blinded by the grace of God as the beautiful creature whispered words of comfort and began flying in the direction of heaven. His horrendous bodily pain was fading, and he could feel the horror within his mind drain the farther up they went. He was smiling.

But then suddenly, he was dropped. 

He saw blackness, he saw flashes of white, he saw the blood red wings fanning out oh-so beautifully from the Great Red Dragons rib cage. He saw shattering wine bottles and piles of bodies. He saw Hannibal's stare peering over the edge of his wineglass. He saw the gaping wound left in Dolarhyde's throat when the Chesapeake Ripper tore it out with his teeth.

He saw Hannibal. 

Hovering over him and rhythmically pushing down against his chest, worried brown eyes a mere foot or two from him when he choked up water and fresh blood all over his own face and neck. When he sat up, he drew in the deepest, most refreshing breath of his life leading up to that moment. It was hard to inhale because his airways were still speckled with water and his own blood, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because Hannibal was still breathing, because he was knelt beside Will rubbing his back through his drenched and blood-stained shirt, because the old Him had died. Bygone Will had made it safely to heaven, but renewed Will had fallen to earths crust and shattered his soul. Renewed Will accepted Hannibal's comforting gestures as he began hyperventilating in affliction.

He felt the horrible burning aches in his cheek and shoulder all over again. His wrist bone was snapped, his vertebrate felt broken and his stomach was so sore he couldn't sit up straight. Moving was more excruciating than he imagined beating his head until he fell unconscious would be. Harsh waves of water tried shoving them down off of the rocks; they tried to do what they had failed to do the first time. They were now starved sharks, foaming at the mouth and eagerly attacking the weaker prey. 

Never letting go of each other's soaking wet shirts, they fought for their lives as they swam toward the shore. Undercurrents were relentlessly pulling them down and filling their noses with water. Will began to choke again, but Hannibal pulled him into his chest and clutched him there with one arm, using the other to scratch, pull, paddle as hard as he could to avoid getting dragged farther out into the sea. He disregarded every bodily trauma he had suffered in order to find the strength to get Will to safety. Finally, they felt their feet hit rocks and sand and they desperately pulled themselves onto the dirty shore. As soon as they were freed from the grasping hands of the water, they collapsed against the land, bleeding and broken and gasping for breath.

He felt as if he had died and come back to life. He was brought back to the start; to a new beginning. He was officially - physically, psychologically, religiously - reborn. Although, he never knew rebirth could be this horrifically painful. 

With a sharp inhale, Wills eyes shot open and he was deafened by the sound of music. His ears began to ring as he pulled away from Hannibal, who he had been clutching in the exact same way as the night they fell. As space and bitter absence was torn between them, he saw the openly astonished expression on Hannibal's face; a very rare expression indeed. He had no memory of what had happened between entering the dance floor and that moment following, but it was safe to assume it was terribly humiliating. He needed another drink.

His heart raced as he pushed through the crowd in the direction of the bar, ignoring every pleading protest coming from the man behind him.

________

"D-Don't fuckin . . . grab m-m-me like that." Wills slurred words dragged heavier than his feet. Hannibal felt lucky his temper tantrum began halfway up the concrete path, because if it had started in the cab, there would have been a risk of authorities getting involved. Just his luck, the cab driver would have thought he had drugged Will and was bringing him home to take advantage of him. 

The authorities poking around in their business is the last thing Hannibal needed or wanted at the moment. He would have been irate if everything they had built was destroyed because Will didn't know when he'd had enough to drink.

"You're highly intoxicated, Will. You can hardly stand on your own. I need to support your weight until I can get you into bed. Tonight hasn't been treating you very well." 

There was a bit of a struggle when Will let his deadweight drop in Hannibal's grip, trying to get out of it and simultaneously keep away from the door. Unfortunately for him, his thin frame was easily supported and dragged on by the older man. 

"Let m-me go! I'drneven- our time wasn' up yet, you f-fuckin asshole. We ha-had a deal." 

Hannibal's face was reddening by the minute. He'd never heard such offensive and repulsive language come from this usually reposeful man. The more insulting profanity that came from Will, the more rough Hannibal's actions became. He began disregarding Wills comfort and essentially choked him with the collar of his own shirt. Will let out a rather appalling retch sound when his airways were momentarily cut off and his autopilot mind went into fight or flight mode. He punched, scratched, pushed, slapped, any defensive thing he could do with his hands to Hannibal's leg to try and free himself from the entrapment. 

He needed to remind himself that Will was blackout drunk, and he was not doing this intentionally. He couldn't get the events of this night out of his head. None of it went according to plan, for either of them, whatsoever. 

First, Will was flirtatious and extremely easy to get along with at the table, then he began moving surprisingly elegantly on the dance floor. Hannibal was entirely mesmerized by him. Unfortunately, it was cut short when Will began to tremble and breathe erratically, and suddenly he was falling against him, wrapping his arms around Hannibal so tightly he couldn't get out of it. It was mere seconds of what seemed to be a severe panic attack before Will pulled away from him and simply ran off. It was like that for most of the night; Hannibal filled with perplexity while Will did everything he could to avoid looking him in the eyes. He proceeded to drink himself into oblivion, spill alcohol all over Hannibal's shoes, then he ended up French kissing some strange woman on the far side of the bar. That's when Hannibal decided he needed to step in and take him home, away from the situation.

When they got to the front door, Hannibal pressed the bottom of his shoe down against Wills stomach to keep him grounded. He managed to get the door unlocked and opened despite the thrashing of the man at his feet. He'd never seen Will blackout drunk before, and if he were honest, he wasn't very fond of it. Not at all.

"You're a fiend, d-don't touch me! Filthy fuckin, you're i-insane . . 'm gonna kill y-you. I want you d-dead. I wish we'd have die-died . ." 

"You don't know what you're saying, Will. Let me get you into bed so you can sleep this off." His voice was dark as he dragged Will by his wrists into the house. After the events following Wills excessive drinking as well as what's happened since the taxi dropped them off, he was entirely sick of Wills actions and attitude. He knew that drunk actions were sober thoughts, and if he had any say in it, he'd make absolutely sure Wills mindset was changed after this. There was no way in hell Hannibal would tolerate such a disrespectful way of thinking and acting in him, whether Will purposefully expressed it or not. Now that he knew this side of him existed, Hannibal was going to make absolutely sure it was abolished.

To say the least, he wasn't bringing Will to bed because he was drunk and needed to rest, he was bringing him to bed so he didn't kill him out of the flash of overwhelming rage that was slowly building up inside of him. He knew he'd sincerely regret it in the aftermath, but God, Will was on his last and only nerve right then. 

The man pulled his arms out of Hannibal's grip and fought to get onto his feet, immediately leaning and plunging his shoulder against the front door. He was swaying anxiously nonstop, almost as if he was forcibly spun in hundreds of circles and told to perform sobriety tests in front of a crowd. He seemed unusually violent and defensive.

"Your bedroom is twenty feet away from you. If you'd like to walk there yourself, so be it. But you can hardly stay balanced enough to walk, so I'd highly recommend you allow me to assist you. It'd be easier for the both of us that way. I can't seem to grasp why you're being aggressive, Will, because you've been given a very special privilege today." 

Will took four slow, strenuous steps forward. He looked at Hannibal with hostility, then his eyes shifted to the right of the older man. He had clearly spotted something that called out to him, and Hannibal knew this because he got a certain look in his eye. It was a gleam, a mischievous and evil transfiguration, that of which Hannibal recognized from Wills becoming. When Hannibal looked back to catch a glimpse of the shining knifes in the wooden block, he was already being shoved out of the way by Wills forceful stumble. He quickly realized Will was reaching for those knifes, making him an immediate threat. 

Instinctively, Hannibal grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him backward, making the man trip himself up and fall flat onto his back. He made a noise of agony when he collided with the hard floor, which knocked the air out of his lungs. That didn't stop him from fighting, though, because he tried to breathlessly get onto his feet before being hustled back down again. 

Hannibal was on top of him now, he was gripping Wills disheveled shirt and putting all of his weight on the younger mans hips and shoulders. One of his hands found its way to Wills throat and held him there alternatively, one of his legs between Wills and the other knelt on the outside of his left leg. Will continued frantically thrashing as if Hannibal were truly trying to kill him.

After several moments of being scratched, slapped, pinched, and generally assaulted, Hannibal realized Wills arm movements were becoming slower and weaker. For a moment he believed it was because Will was finally losing consciousness, but that theory was quickly disproven. Although his face was full of rage, the deep creases between eyebrows began to soften. This was because as Wills arms slowed, his hips did not. 

His strangled breaths became tremulous and heavy. Hannibal's hands loosened on Wills shirt and throat as he watched the mans glossy eyes roll back. He could feel a rapid heartbeat against his fingers from the brunets carotid arteries. 

Wills entire body abruptly broke out in violent tremors, his chest arched into Hannibal's as he tensed up the first time. His thighs tightened around Hannibal's, then he let out a feeble groan. His arms fell to either side of his shoulders, relaxed and fervid against the cold hardwood floor. Dark curly hair stuck to the fresh sweat beading across his forehead, although his hair was already stringy from excessive heat at the club. 

As Hannibal stared into Wills glazed eyes, his body filled with disorientation and discomposure. This was truly the very first time he didn't know what to do with himself, both physically and mentally. Just then, he felt the sudden bothersome warmth of a liquid pooling underneath Wills jeans and soaking through his own against his thigh. That only confirmed his inference that Will had indeed ejaculated in his jeans.

His stare never left Will, who appeared utterly dazed and euphoric. This was a whiplash realization compared to the attitude he had less than five minutes prior, where he was attempting to harm Hannibal with deadly weapons. Wills gratified gaze shifted to endearment, his pupils becoming heavily dilated. He looked at Hannibal as if he were a priceless work of art; an exquisite composition with phenomenal aesthetic magnetism. Hannibal could smell the potent alcohol on the mans breath. 

Realistically, Will couldn't be blamed for this. He was completely blacked out. He was typically a sophisticated man that believed he was above regular impulses like masturbation, laziness and binge-eating. Sober, he overwhelmed his mind so often that he successfully forgot about the idea of sex and beautiful women; although, Alana was truly a breakthrough in that habit for him. Or so he thought, before she rejected him and moved on to Hannibal instead. That heartbreak and betrayal alone completely turned him off the idea of any kind of sexual or emotionally bonding acts. Margot was his way of rebounding and pretending Alana never happened, then he continued shutting out that part of his mind. Not to mention Manson's vulgar acts that viciously killed the fetus in Margot's body, which deepened his pain and made it difficult for him to even ponder happy thoughts to begin with.

Since having sex with Margot, Will continued to deny further intimate thoughts. He refused to acknowledge the aching sexual frustration slowly eating away at his insides. Nearly two months later, it's all being quickly drained from his body at once. The excessive amounts of alcohol he'd consumed an hour beforehand numbed his mind enough to where nothing else existed but the bewitching man on top of him and the immensity of the pleasure throbbing between his legs. His mind was formulating no coherent or objecting thoughts when he let go. 

Wills powerless arms elevated and his blushing lips parted. His hands detected their route to either side of Hannibal's smooth neck, giving his jaw a tender caress with his thumb. The older mans body was instantaneously littered in goosebumps. 

He was, however, wrenched from the blissful clouds back down to earth the moment Will attempted to pull him down into a kiss. It was so enticing, such an intoxicating envision; the only virtuous thing Hannibal had deeply desired in years. His eyes closed, he felt his body melting into Wills warm embrace yet again . . . 

Their lips were nearly ghosting each other when Hannibal pulled away with a sharp breath, withdrawing himself from contact with Wills body entirely. Will wasn't paying attention, but Hannibal looked as if he were on the verge of burning someone alive. He raised his open hand to place horizontally across his nose and cheeks, wiping down the rest of his face until his fingers enclosed underneath his chin then dropped to his side. It was a clear indicator of Hannibal's consternation. He promptly walked straight to the hallway and quietly closed his bedroom door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . That was a lot. 
> 
> I'm genuinely hoping this story is living up to half of the artistic awe of the show and has a realistic essence of the men in it. I've discovered it is incredibly difficult to get into a mindset related to Bryan's and be able to stay that way for extended periods of time. It's exhausting, I'll admit, and sometimes makes me write crazy things that I end up selecting and deleting to start again. It's like trying to recreate a Van Gogh piece without any kind of reference to go off of, and also being a three year old with a shitty paintbrush, a piece of printer paper, and melted crayons to work with. Im not on the level of intelligence and creativity to be properly cut out for this :') 
> 
> Anyway, what do you think of the story so far? Please let me know in the comments! :) I hope you all agree with me in the sense that Will is honestly just kind of a childish man in many ways, he's super sophisticated and smart but petty as hell. Ya know?


	5. Teacup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this chapter for a while now, I hope you enjoy it!

Hannibal had successfully mollified Will after his blackout tantrum, although, it was in a sense he had not intended in any way. It was the last thing he'd have imagined would happen in a moment so utterly sudden, violent and aggressive. However, he'd be mendacious if he were to say it didn't gratify him in one way or another. 

Following the dismissal of himself from the kitchen floor, Hannibal paced back and forth in his bedroom, perplexed as to what he should do next. Should he leave Will out there until he's sober at sunrise? Should he try once more to get him into bed? 

Should he leave well enough alone, allowing Will to remember it all in the morning just to see what would happen? Should he attempt to erase all evidence of these events in hopes that Will would forget entirely? 

After approximately two hours of contemplation, he chose the latter. This kind of accidental slip-up could create a heavy tension between the two and destroy what progress they've made in their relationship, after all. He knew that if Will woke up tomorrow morning and recalled what had happened, he would be mortified. He would extensively overthink it and withdraw himself from as much contact with Hannibal as he could. He would be angry with himself, regretful and resentful, and most of all, humiliated. It would be detrimental to their relationship, and Hannibal simply couldn't allow that.

Therefore, he needed to take care of it while Will was still at the very least, mildly inebriated.

He quietly opened his bedroom door and exited through the hallway, walking with caution in case Will had fallen asleep. He quickly realized that Will was instead trying to get himself up although he was miserably failing. He was rolled onto his stomach on his hands and knees, but hardly able to get his feet underneath him well enough to lift himself in a standing position. He hadn't vomited yet, which meant every sip of the alcohol he had ingested was still in his system.

Hannibal watched him for a moment with a scrutinizing squint. 

He took a few long strides to Wills side, letting him know of his presence with his heavy footsteps before grabbing his wrist and pulling him up against his chest. Will gratefully accepted his help and leaned a majority of his weight into the man. He breathed heavily, making Hannibal's face twitch in displeasure. He smelled of body odor, alcohol, a wretchedly vile aftershave, and sex. Worst of all, he smelled of another person. He smelled of a woman's artificial floral perfume and fruit-flavored gum.

He needed a bath. 

"Come with me." He said softly.

"Hm? Where?"

"I'm going to bathe you, Will." He said as a simple statement rather than a question. He grabbed Wills right arm and pulled it over his own head so it was wrapped around the back of his neck. It was the easiest way of supporting Will on their journey to Hannibal's bathroom.

"M'm tired."

"I'm sure you are," Hannibal began leading the brunet to the master bedroom; his bedroom located directly across from Wills. The room Will had unfortunately never been in until that moment. 

"You've had a rather exhausting day."

"Why're we in here?" He paused, "Your bedroom."

"My bathtub is much larger than yours."

"Oh." He hummed and let his head drop down again. Hannibal was practically dragging him at this point. He wasn't necessarily so drunk he was incapacitated, he was just very tired. So tired, in fact, he was drifting in and out of sleep while standing beside Hannibal. He was drooling down his own shirt, much to Hannibal's disapproval. It disgusted him.

He switched the light on as they entered the bathroom, igniting the beautiful black and white marble floor and counter tops that seemed like an entirely separate world from the rest of the home. It was huge, to say the least; Hannibal could host a small party in there if he desired. All surfaces glistened with an Olympus-like glow. The atmosphere alone was dripping with the golden days of autumn. 

There were two sinks, both of which were built into a bulky countertop that could hold any amount of a high-class woman's hair and makeup products. But in this case, it contained Hannibal's hand soap and shaving products alone. It hadn't been very cluttered with Felix's belongings in the first place, anyway. Hannibal had simply discarded them when he moved in.

The rectangular mirror was large enough for a decent amount of friends to take a group picture in. It made Hannibal appear rather lonely when he stood in it by himself. On either side of the mirror were two elongated lightbulbs, the other light fixtures being lightbulbs encased in foggy glass shades hanging from the ceiling. Hannibal had only switched on the latter. He preferred the dim glow they provided instead of the harsh beams the cosmetic lights gave off.

Adjacent left to the countertop was the ordinary toilet, which doubled as a bidet. In the corner between the counter and toilet was a white, tall and thin bookshelf that held rather basic succulent houseplants and decor that the original Felix had placed there. Hannibal had simply never changed it, however he'd frequently thought of how lovely Belladonna flowers would look instead. 

On the wall between the countertop and the toilet was the large window, which was locked and covered with three separate curtains that were flush against the sill surrounding the window. Hannibal was very serious about his privacy.

Across from the sinks sat the shower, which was separate from the bath. It was an advanced technological rain shower that had several temperature, pressure, angle and steam-control settings. From a touch pad located on the wall outside of the shower, the user could select a specific temperature to the degree for both the water and the heated floor. The pressure could be altered from a gentle shower to a storm-like pour. There were shower heads located on the walls that could be turned on for a more efficient surrounding rinse. Steam control could be set to where the whole bathroom would resemble a sauna, or enough air would be drawn in from the vent to clear the area almost entirely of hot fog. 

The door and walls were completely clear glass, all except for the actual bathroom wall the shower was built upon. It was extravagant. 

Last but not least, the bathtub was located in the center of the large room. It was a beautiful black and white clawfoot with a marble finish. It was an ordinary bathtub with no special jacuzzi settings, but that was perfectly fine because there was a hot tub with those very settings on the deck of their private backyard. The drainage system was attached to that of the shower, as well as the pipes where the water in the curved faucet came from. It was simple, yet utterly marvelous. 

Hannibal lead Will to the sink, where he leaned his weight against the counter. His knees buckled and unbuckled as he fought to stay upright. Hannibal turned the bathtub faucet on and adjusted the temperature until it met his standards, then he set the rubber plug in the drain until he heard the drainage stop. The bottom of the tub slowly began filling.

Hannibal retrieved lavender oil from the collection of oils in the cabinet. Adding three drops to the bath water, the scent spread far enough for Hannibal to catch a vague whiff. He knew this would not only help will relax a bit, but it would easily cover any remaining scents of that woman on Wills body. The rest could be taken care of with a toothbrush later on.

He didn't protest as Hannibal slid his flannel off of his shoulders, allowing the sleeves to invert as he pulled it from around Wills wrists. He then knelt down and untied Wills shoes, lifting one foot at a time by his ankle to remove them along with his socks. They smelled pungent of sweat.

While still knelt on one knee, Hannibal carefully unbuttoned Wills jeans and drew the zipper down. He loosened them from around the mans hips before he pulled them down, taking Wills soiled boxers with them. The sudden feeling of cool air on Wills genitals made the man stiffen and cover himself, but he hardly showed disproved apart from that. Hannibal proceeded. 

As soon as he got Wills bottoms from around his ankles, he returned to his feet and lifted the mans shirt above his head. The heaviness of Wills arms made it a bit harder than if he were to lift them up, but it was luckily a quick process. Now came the truly difficult bit; removing Wills contact lenses. 

Hannibal moved to the second sink and washed his hands with soap and warm water. He dried them well on his hand towel and returned in front of Will, setting his hand on the mans forehead. Using his thumb, he lifted Wills eyelid and simultaneously attempted to keep his head steady. Wills rolling eyes made the contact lenses slip down off of his irises, and that fortunately made the job easier. He used the thumb and index finger of his other hand to gently pinch the edge of the lens and lift, but it slipped from his grip and Will flinched back at the sensation of someone touching his eye. He began to weakly fight against Hannibal, but it lasted mere seconds before he seemed to forget it entirely. 

Hannibal waited a moment before attempting again, and he smiled to himself when he felt the lens disconnect from Wills iris. He decided he'd replace them, then discarded it in the bin underneath the sink. He did the same with Wills other eye and succeeded after one attempt. 

Finally, Will was nude and prepared for his bath. Hannibal turned to look at the level of the water and decided to wait a few more moments to turn it off. He looked underneath his sink and retrieved a small cup, that of which he would use to rinse Wills hair. Clearly, he knew the day he'd bathe Will in this bathroom would soon come. He was right. 

Hannibal lead Will by a warm hand on his lower back to the side of the tub. 

"Your bath is ready, Will. Be careful as you step in."

The brunet breathed in audibly, shivering in the cool air. Goosebumps had risen on his skin sometime between then and the moment his clothes were removed. He glanced over at Hannibal, then down at the tub, and seemed to acknowledge none of it as he shakily lifted his right foot and dipped it into the hot water. The sensation was riveting. He gave an unintentional smile as he lifted his other foot and stepped all the way in, simply happy with the deliciously warm feeling in stark contrast with the air around the rest of his body. 

Hannibal continued spotting him as he grabbed each side of the tub and lowered himself in, feeling increasingly relaxed as the heat and faint smell of flowers engulfed more of him. The older man allowed him to lay back and let the water creep up his stomach and chest. He knew it was likely one of the loveliest sensations Will had felt that night. 

One of them. 

________

Wills head was leaned against the edge of the tub, and the older man was knelt behind him on the floor. Hannibal gently massaged the shampoo into Wills hair, careful to sweep any suds away from his forehead to avoid allowing it to drip down toward the mans eyes. His fingers moved tenderly through the brown curls of the younger mans hair. The muscles and tendons in his hands flexed gently with every motion, making Wills shoulders shiver above the water. Will seemed as if he were half conscious, relaxed in the warmth of the water to the point of drifting off every so often. For now, it was bliss.

Watery suds flowed down from Wills sideburn into the side of his facial hair. As Hannibal cupped water into his hand to wash it away, his palm brushed the fresh scar on the mans cheek, his fingertips returning a moment later to touch it again. They traced over the thick scar once, twice, then his thumb slowly did the same. He decided it would be better if he continued on and let it go.

Wordlessly, Hannibal helped Will sit up so he could scoop water into a cup and carefully rinse the suds from the curly locks. Wills pale face was leaned up toward the ceiling, his eyes gently fluttering as water trickled against his scalp and down his back. He seemed sad, Hannibal noted, as if something were troubling him and he was struggling to say it out loud. 

"Is something the matter, Will?" He questioned softly, studying the younger mans face as it further twisted in dejection.

"You lied to me." He sounded melancholy. 

"Which lie do you speak of? As you know, there are several."

His voice trembled, "You lied when you smiled and said 'you won't feel a thing'." Wills words slurred in a messy line.

Hannibal, understandably, seemed confused. He thought back to every plausible moment where such a statement was appropriate, but recalled nothing. Perhaps Will was just drunkenly rambling again. Or, perhaps he truly believed Hannibal had said that to him at one point or another.

"When did I say such a thing?"

"When you killed me." He hummed. His voice was still soft. Content, almost, with the fact Hannibal had supposedly killed him. Hannibal was now wholly perplexed.

"When I killed you?" He echoed. When Will nodded and his breath caught in his throat, Hannibal pretended he didn't notice.

He paused, "how did I kill you, Will?"

His head rolled lazily to the side, "Like . . you killed that girl. In the woods."

Hannibal evoked the case of Garret Jacob Hobbs, and instinctively, his lips twitched in a sadistic smirk. It was refreshing to know it was still haunting Will so deeply. The trauma remaining from the event was crucial in Hannibal's ability to manipulate Wills particularly vulnerable mental health. As long as Will was tormented, he was moldable putty in Hannibal's hands.

"Have you been dreaming of me often?"

Will nodded once, "you're the figment of my worst nightmares. Every one of them."

The room fell silent again. Hannibal gleefully continued rinsing Wills soft hair, happy to wash the filth of the night from the mans body and soul. It was mandatory. Not because Hannibal was envious of every hand and pair of lips that touched Will in that club, of course, but for Wills comfort. 

That's what Hannibal tried convincing himself of, anyway.

"Dr. Lecter?" He broke the silence with a meek whisper. He slowly straightened his head when the cup was placed back on the floor by Hannibal's knee, water dripping from his hairline down his face. It trailed down his nose and mouth, some ending up in his eyes. He didn't mind.

"Yes?"

"H-How could you just leave us bleeding out on the floor like that?" He questioned feebly and looked up at Hannibal, holding fretful eye contact as the older man lathered a washcloth with scentless body soap. He was patently sobering up; he was becoming increasingly aware. That was not acceptable for Hannibal's intentions. 

Hannibal thought of how to answer, and due to the planned events of the rest of the night, he decided to just be honest with the man. Anything said within the next ten minutes would have never existed in the morning. Still, he sighed.

"You betrayed me, Will. I let you see me, but rather than opening your eyes and accepting my gift, you simply turned away and rejected my offer . . . I don't believe a knife could cut as deeply." He remained still until Will broke the eye contact and sniffled. His eyes were closed.

"But, you're at fault."

"What makes me at fault, Will?"

The man shook his head; a sign of his debilitated emotions. Hannibal was stripping him down to the bone and he was visibly breaking. Will gently laid back against the tub again and exhaled despondently. 

"You're frighteningly smart, Dr. Lecter. I don't understand how you haven't gotten it yet," he mumbled, "No one wants you when you have no heart."

Hannibal swallowed thickly. He had to admit, that kind of hurt. He hated that he didn't understand why it stung so badly, but he couldn't just brush it off. His heart ache very quickly turned into bitterness, and now he truly didn't feel any regret for what he was about to cause. His chest constricted.

The pain Will caused in Hannibal's mind was excruciating. Worst of all, he was wrong, and Hannibal was too proud to correct him. Although he had no clue, Will had basically broken the devils heart.

He continued looking down at the tired face of the man who leaned back against the wall of his bathtub. Wills curly hair was stringy and damp from the steam of the water. Droplets were collected in his eyelashes, but Hannibal couldn't decipher the source. He loved seeing Will cry. 

Even broken and exhausted as he laid, he was beautiful.

"Sit up for me."

Will sniffled again and obliged, pulling his knees up out of the water for enough leverage to lift his back from the wall of the bathtub. He was evidently still intoxicated enough to where he swayed side to side in that unbalanced position. As he hunched over, each protuberance of his spine bulged out like an erupted tectonic plate from beneath his skin. Hannibal had to refrain from running the pads of his fingertips down the curve of his back. What alluring anatomy.

"Why did I agree to this," He stated under his breath, "a-am I insane?"

"Pardon?" Hannibal hummed as he gently set the washcloth against Wills back and began circling it to clean it of the days filth. His other hand was placed on Wills shoulder to hold him steady, and just the contact alone made Will shiver a second time.

"W-Why are you bathing me again?"

Hannibal paused. "Because you're filthy. You're far too inebriated to wash yourself without risking a fall. You're going to be ill in the morning as it is, I figured you wouldn't need to feel so unclean in addition to that."

Will didn't reply. He simply let his head fall forward toward his own lap, fighting the urge to fall asleep at the warm and comforting feeling of Hannibal's soothing gestures. He shamelessly sought solace in the older man. He was beginning to form much clearer thoughts, however, and unfortunately that meant he was quickly realizing how inappropriate this bath was. He shied his shoulder away from Hannibal.

"Maybe . . I should go to bed now." He pulled his knees to his chest to hide as much of his exposed nude body as he could. He was shaking. The water was still warm.

Hannibal continued attempting to wash Will, but the man began pushing his hands away.

"Qu-Quit touching me. This is highly inappropriate, Dr. Lecter."

"I don't understand how." He said innocently, "I'm simply assisting you-."

"Stop."

Hannibal frowned, "was it not inappropriate when you ejaculated underneath me and attempted to kiss me mere hours ago?"

Will shook his head. His voice was much more tense. "Leave me alone."

Hannibal dropped the washcloth into the water with a quiet slosh sound. He rose to his feet at Wills side. There was only one way he knew how to completely remove the last several hours of memories from Wills brain, and no matter how much it truly pained Hannibal to do so, he had no other choice. He filtered his hostility from Wills earlier remarks into his intentions to harm him.

"I know what you feel now."

"Y-You don't know anything about me." He attempted to stand in the water, but Hannibal pushed him back down by his shoulder. Water sloshed up against the wall of the tub and onto the shining floor at the harsh motion. Will made a sound of distress.

"Tell me. Are you in love with me, Will?" Deep down, he hoped Will would be honest and finally admit to it. But he knew that was only wishful thinking. It was simply not something Will would ever do.

"Tell me."

The man shook his head again, but frantically this time. His eyes were tightly closed and his lip quivered with distress. He wasn't sober enough to be able to physically collect himself yet.

"Yes you are. You're completely infatuated with me, aren't you? With my wicked games; you crave a taste of my sinful immorality. You're just as black-hearted as I."

"No." His voice was weak.

"You worship me. Do you see me as your god, Will?"

"No!" He hissed, "you're a monster. I-I don't . ."

"We are the same. What separates us is nothing other than the physicality of our vessels."

"I'm nothing like you. Y-You're evil."

"You are afraid to see in yourself what you condemn in others. What you condemn in me. But we're connected; we're one soul."

"Get out of my h-head." His hands tangled themselves in his own wet hair, pulling hard enough to feel the pain. He needed to keep himself grounded. He couldn't let himself slip again.

"What makes me so evil?"

"You killed her," he weeped faintly, "y-you killed Abigail."

"No, Will." He narrowed his eyes and swallowed, "you did."

"You're lying!" He shrieked defensively and slammed his hands onto the side of the tub closest to Hannibal, looking up at him with tears in his bloodshot eyes. He was trembling with sorrow and guilt. Beside Hannibal's feet lied the pale, decaying body of his deceased teenage daughter. Her dried skin was sunken close to the bone. Her throat was slit from ear to ear, her mouth was hung open in dismay, her eyes were completely void of color much like her skin. The dull moons in the sockets still, even without irises, managed to follow Wills frantic movements. Her own blood pooled around her body in a messy, horrifically smelling mess. Will couldn't look.

"You murdered her."

"I didn't . ."

"You cut her throat and watched her bleed out at your feet. It was you."

"I didn't!" He sobbed with his face in his hands, his left fist lifting to repeatedly hit himself in the head. He needed to wake up. This had to have been a dream. This was a terrible, terrible nightmare. 

This couldn't be real.

"Will, what's done is done. You must look at me."

"P-Please don't lie to me."

"Look at me!" His eyes suddenly met the dilated, bright blue ones still beneath him in the tub. Wills vision was now blurred because of the lack of prescription contacts; he could hardly see who he was looking at. Hannibal could see the frantic fear in them even without the furrow of Wills brows and shaking of his hands. He'd only ever seen Will truly cry a handful of times. 

But this, this was something entirely different from the rest. This was pure purgatory.

"Who do you see?"

Will flinched when darkness flashed across his vision, backing against the tub when he saw Garret Jacob Hobbs standing above him. Every time he blinked he saw the Wendigo coming nearer behind his eyelids. Every time he opened his eyes he saw Garret Jacob Hobbs inching closer, sadistic intentions gleaming in his face. He couldn't get away from the things he feared most, even when his eyes were closed.

"See? . . See? . ."

"Please," Will begged, "I'm s-sorry. I didn't . . w-want to fire at you. You gave me no choice!"

"You killed me, and you killed our daughter, Will. Abigail is dead because of you."

"This isn't real. You're not real! You're lying to me!"

"I'm just as real as you are a monster. I am the only being who has seen all, and knows everything you have done. There is no way to get rid of me, Will, for I have as many names as there are ways to die."

Will made several strained sounds of anguish as if he were struggling to breathe. His body suddenly tensed against the side of the bath like a postmortem response and he began rapidly convulsing, making him slump down near the surface of the water. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and Hannibal caught it before it hit the edge of the tub.

Hannibal reached down into the water with his free hand to unplug the drain and allow the water to slowly disappear. He hooked his hands underneath Wills underarms to pull him from the tub, uncaring of the water getting all over his clothes and bathroom floor. He knew he would just clean the mess later that night. Hannibal struggled to get him over the wall of the bathtub because of Wills harsh motions, but he quickly managed to get him onto the floor. He made sure his jaw was clenched properly so Will wouldn't bite his own tongue off. He laid Will on his side to avoid the man choking on his own saliva or vomit while his seizure continued. 

The older man retrieved a towel from his bathroom cabinet to dry the areas of Will that he could reach, then he rolled his unconscious nude body over to dry more of him. Grabbing Will by the wrists, he began dragging him out of the bathroom and bedroom to the hallway. He laid him back down to carefully dry the dripping, curly locks that were getting the wood floors wet. Hannibal then picked him up bridal style to carry him instead.

Finally, he managed to get Will into his bedroom and easily onto his bed. He was rather light, Hannibal noted; Will had clearly lost weight since the day Hannibal supported most of it on their way to the veterinarian. He'd need to remember to feed Will more often. 

He went through Wills drawers and closet to choose sleepwear for the remaining few hours of the night. It was rather cold in the house when the sun was down, but Hannibal decided against pajama pants anyway. Every morning he had seen Will, he was wearing boxers and a T-shirt. He decided creating a realistic story was better than a comfortable one; he'd let Will freeze for the night to assure there would be no suspicion as to why Will was dressed differently that morning. It'd be easier to formulate a bluff if everything was as usual aside from the fact Will couldn't remember it.

Dressing him was nowhere near as easy as getting him onto the bed, however. It was rather difficult to keep Wills upper body upright long enough to get his T-shirt over his head and arms. Getting his boxers up between Wills hips and the mattress was just as hard. He was trying not to pop any of he stitches in the waistband Wills boxers. 

Finally, he managed to pull them up high enough to where Wills genitals were properly covered. That was good enough for him. Hannibal stood back and huffed when he was finally finished dressing the brunet. Unfortunately, Hannibal's sadistic tendencies began to whisper to him as he looked over the unconscious body below him. He could easily lift Wills body again and bring him to the dining room, then tear him to shreds before he could even awaken and defend himself. He could mutilate and defile Will until he was unrecognizable. He could finally feel utter gratification as he sat back in his leather chair and basked in the blood splattered across his body and the walls. He could get off to the taste of slitting Wills throat and letting it soak his face and chest. 

Instead, Hannibal licked his lips and averted his eyes. He was concerned that if he were to let his mind and groin wander too far, he would destroy everything he lived for. It wasn't worth the risk.

The silver haired man pulled Wills covers back and shifted his limp body so he was laying properly, then he pulled them back over Wills body and fixed the mans damp hair. He remained still, looking down at his beautiful face for a moment before turning around and leaving the room. He quietly shut the door.

_________

Screams from inexplicable vocal cords smeared through the air. It was sinister. Will desperately searched the room he was in for a way out, but to no avail. There was nothing but blackness surrounding him from every angle. It wasn't darkness, however; it was a void. A black hole. He was encased by nothingness.

He reached his hands out in front of him and flailed them in every direction trying to find a wall, a door, anything in attempt to identify where he was. No matter how far he ran, he found nothing. He knelt to the floor simply to feel something solid and real, but his body plummeted headfirst into still air and everything felt as if it turned upside down. As soon as he returned to his feet, though, nothing felt different at all. He could already feel his sanity slipping from the lack of stimuli around him. He was beginning to hear only his heartbeat and breath.

He heard quiet thumping footsteps behind him, making him immediately turn around to confront whatever it was. As he spun around, the footsteps followed the back of his ears and he couldn't seem to face whoever or whatever was rapidly approaching him; it always seemed to be coming from behind. It made the hairs on Wills neck stand up.

"For I have as many names as there are ways to die . ."

"Hello? D-Doctor Lecter? Is that you?" 

"Wicked games . ."

"Where are you? I-I can't see you. Come to me."

"Who do you see? . ."

"Please," he said softly as he turned one way and then the other, "come out. I-I don't want to be alone."

He turned his body one last time to the left and found himself face to chest with a gaunt, alarmingly tall Wendigo. A jet black Wendigo whose face closely resembled Hannibal's, but body resembled that of a starved giant. Black antlers stood pridefully on the skull of the emotionless creature. His stomach churned when he thought back to the exact same antlers tearing open his abdomen. It crept closer to Will, who backed away in response. The Wendigos mouth didn't move at all when it spoke, and most dreadfully of all, sounded eerily similar to Hannibal himself. The voice was an echo inside of Wills mind.

"Betrayed me, Will . ."

"I'm sorry." He said sincerely as his hands posed close to his chest, a sign of fear for his life. The creature grew nearer and a coldness spread around Wills physique. The scent of lavender flowers filled the air.

"Worship me . ."

"Yes, y-yes, I'll do anything." Will pleaded, "just . . please don't leave me alone in this place."

Suddenly, Wills back was met with an opposing force. It came out of no where and made him jump in surprise. 

Several thick, foggy limbs began branching out from Hannibal's back in every direction. They had the vague appearance of smoke and tar. There was no time to run before he was being encircled tightly within more limbs than he could count, and they rapidly squeezed closer around him from head to toe. Perhaps strangest part was how they fuzed together like melted and re-dried candle wax as they moved, creating a blanket of coldness and maleficent evil around Wills body. He began to panic and hyperventilate.

His airways became increasingly restricted and a pounding filled his head. He could no longer move his arms and legs and every time he breathed out, it was harder to draw a breath back in. He felt as if the life was being squeezed out of him by a horrifyingly strong python. His ribs were snapping one by one and he cried out breathlessly. Will weakly tried to fight his way out of them, but he was no fool. He knew there was no use in it. 

"Please," He wheezed, "you're hurting me."

He knew regardless of what he said, it was Hannibal's intention; to hurt him. Tears streamed down his face. He felt like a coward. A wimp. He was stuck in the absolute worst game of cat and mouse that he could imagine. Or more appropriately, serpent and mouse.

He could feel himself breaking down and giving in to whatever Hannibal wanted to do with him. Despite that, his body still instinctively resisted the harsh limbs of the Wendigo. He didn't want to be alone. But he didn't want to die either.

With Hannibal, he knew he couldn't have both. 

"Dr. Lecter," He whispered.

"It's too late . ."

"It's never too late." He whimpered. It was a pitiful sound. He was disgusted by his own infirmity.

"Please don't. I-I don't want to die."

Hannibal answered simply, "Every living thing dies alone."

And much like the fallen teacup, Will shattered.

Wills eyes shot open as he jolted into a sitting position and grasped at whatever he could reach. He needed something to prove this was reality rather than a dreams dream, and suddenly he felt the reassuring presence of warm temperature and textured fabric. Something was lowering his heart rate and blood pressure once again. It was a split second before he realized that thing was Hannibal's arms, who was sat on the edge of his bed with his hands on Wills upper arms. Hannibal had been repeating his name, telling him to wake up for mere seconds before Will came to.

When he saw that Will had finally gotten out of whatever subconscious torment he had previously been in, he stopped talking. He observed as the mans terror and confusion melted into an exhausted relief, then pain. Hannibal wasn't a fool, he knew Will had not only a hangover headache, but a full body ache. From the dancing, the fighting, the seizure. However, recollection was no where in sight, and Hannibal was finally able to relax. Will had no clue. 

After a moment of panting and clutching the fabric of Hannibal's silky button up pajama shirt, his eyes averted down and he let his temple gently, yet hesitantly, fall against Hannibal's shoulder. He closed his eyes and took a breath when Hannibal set his hands flat on his shoulder blades. He felt very tired as it was, and this warm gesture was of no help. Unfortunately for Will, he was far too afraid of his own subconscious to fall back asleep. He instead let his nose brush against Hannibal's clean shaven neck and breathe in the smell of his aftershave. He had to admit, it was sublime. It smelled like something of nature's making, somewhere where the filthy hands of humans couldn't interfere. Although it wasn't the case, Will was half-convinced Hannibal had somehow formulated the scent from fresh chopped wood and a mixture of exotic herbs himself.

He felt goosebumps form when his breath ghosted the mans neck. 

"I-I don't want to die alone." He mumbled finally, breaking the cold silence within the room. His voice unintentionally cracked while he spoke to Hannibal, however the embarrassment of being woken up from a nightmare overshadowed the embarrassment of his evident vulnerability by far. 

Hannibal thought carefully before replying, "you're not alone." 

He decided it was in fact the right thing to say when Wills grip tightened around his arms. For a moment, he basked in the desperation within Wills gesture. 

He then attempted to pull away and stand, evidently to Wills dismay because he didn't let go of Hannibal's sleeves. He looked up at Hannibal with the seemingly most pleading, needy look in his eyes since the prior night. 

"Don't go."

Hannibal chuckled, "I figured you'd need a cup of hot coffee. Now I understand you don't want to be alone, physically, and not solely emotionally. Would you care to join me, Will?"

With a meek nod of his head and a tug at Hannibal's shirt sleeves, Will was getting out of the bed and joining Hannibal's side. They left the room together with Wills paranoid footsteps leading and Hannibal's hand on his lower back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait. I've suddenly become a very busy person and most of my free time is used for studying. However, I've found enough time to put together a chapter that is at least mediocrely satisfying for me. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Edit: I also thought I'd explain my POV in some of this chapter in case it left anyone unbelieving and confused; the part where Will succumbed to Hannibal's psychological torture and believed the things he was saying, despite arguing against it AND knowing deep down it wasn't actually true. Will said it himself; he can't help but feel guilty for the things Hannibal has done, because he feels like he did it too. A very huge part of this story is based on the fact Will and Hannibal are connected in their minds, and as of now because of Wills weakened mental strength, Will is more susceptible to psychological harm if Hannibal wishes to inflict it. Keep in mind, Hannibal has the ability to effect Will far more than anyone else in every way. Hannibal is intelligent enough to find ways to mold Will into whatever figure he wishes. Weeks after the fall and Wills untreated mental issues from time prior to the final episode, he's extremely lonely and still in severe pain both physically and psychologically. He's weak, and he's reliant on Hannibal to be his strength; his rock. Hannibal is a sadistic, self centered character who is unfortunately changing Will into someone's who direly needs him instead of being empathetic and be helping him get better. That's why Will was so easily guilted about the things he didn't cause. Not to mention how inebriated he is, and how clearly sexually frustrated he is, and how he's starving for human contact and affection. It's the perfect recipe for disaster; a disaster Hannibal is eager to taste. I hope that helped any misunderstandings anyone may have had. :)
> 
> What do you think about Hannibal's successful manipulation? Let me know down in the comments! :)


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